Of.  9, 


/?0 


UEECHY 


BY 


ELIZABETH     WETHERELL 
I 

Author  of  "THE  WIDE,  WIDE,  WORLD." 


I  hope  I  may  speak  of  Women 
Without  offence  to  the  Ladies." 

— THE  GUARDIAN. 


NEW  YORK 
HURST  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


' 


.   ... 

,     .    . 

QUEECHY.    j 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  single  cloud  on  a  sunny  day 

When  all  the  rest  of  heaven  is  clear. 

A  rrown  upon  the  atmosphere, 

That  hath  no  business  to  appear, 
When  skies  are  blue  and  earth  is  gay. 

BYRON. 

"  COME,  dear  grandpa  ! — the  old  mare  and  the  wagon  are  at  the 

gate— all  ready." 

"Well,  dear!  "—responded  a  cheerful  hearty  voice,  «•  they  must 
wait  a  bit ;  I  haven't  got  my  hat  yet." 

"Oril  get  that." 

And  the  little  speaker,  a  girl  of  some  ten  or  eleven  years  old, 
dashed  past  the  old  gentleman  and  running  along  the  narrow  pas 
sage  which  led  to  his  room  soon  returned  with  the  hat  in  her  hand. 

"  Yes,  dear, — but  that  ain't  all.  I  must  put  on  my  great-coat — 
and  I  must  look  and  see  if  I  can  find  any  money — 

"  O  yes — for  the  post-office.  It's  a  beautiful  day,  grandpa. 
Cynthy  ! — won't  you  come  and  help  grandpa  on  with  his  great-coat  ? 
—And  I'll  go  out  and  keep  watch  of  the  old  mare  till  you're  ready." 

A  needless  caution.  For  the  old  mare,  though  spirited  enough 
for  her  years,  had  seen  some  fourteen  or  fifteen  of  them  and  was  in 
no  sort  of  danger  of  running  away.  She  stood  in  what  was  called 
the  back  meadow,  just  without  the  little  paling  fence  that  enclosed 
a  small  courtyard  round  the  house.  Around  this  courtyard  rich 
pasture-fields  lay  on  every  side,  the  high  road  cutting  through  them 
iot  more  than  a  hundred  or  two  feet  from  the  house. 

The  little  girl  planted  herself  on  the  outside  of  the  paling  and  set 
ting  her  back  to  it  eyed  the  old  mare  with  great  contentment ;  for 
besides  other  grounds  for  security  as  to  her  quiet  behavior,  one  of 
the  men  employed  about  the  farm,  who  had  harnessed  the  equipage, 
was  at  the  moment  busied  in  putting  some  clean  straw  in  the  bottom 
of  the  vehicle. 

"Watkins,"  said  the  child  presently  to  this  person,  "here  is  a 
strap  that  is  just  ready  to  come  unbuckled." 

"  What  do  you  know  about  straps  and  buckles  ?  "  said  the  man 
rather  grumly.  But  he  came  round  however  to  see  what  she  meant, 
and  while  he  drew  the  one  and  fastened  the  other  took  special  good 
care  not  to  let  Fleda  know  that  her  watchful  eyes  had  probably 
saved  the  whole  riding  party  from  ruin  ;  as  the  loosing  of  the  strap 

M119742 


would- of  rjfcC6ssity.  ha^e,  brought  on  a  trial  of  the  old  mare's  nerves 
which;  i>or;  alt  hler  philosophy  could  have  been  expected  to  meet. 
Fleda' was  satisfied' ta  see*  the  buckle  made  fast,  and  that  Watkins, 
roused, by- her  hin,*:  or  b,y  tbe  c#use  of  it,  afterward  took  a  somewhat 
careful',  lo.dk'  over:  the  wttdle"  e*stablishment.  In  high  glee  then  she 
climbed  -t'o'ti&i 'seat  lira. the  little*  wagon,  and  her  grandfather  coming 
out  coated  and  hatted  with  some  difficulty  mounted  to  his  place  be 
side  her. 

"  I  think  Watkins  might  have  taken  the  trouble  to  wash  the 
wagon,  without  hurting  himself,"  said  Fleda;  "it  is  all  speckled 
with  mud  since  last  time." 

••  Ha* n't  he  washed  it !  "  said  the  old  gentleman  in  a  tone  of  dis 
pleasure.  "  Watkins!  " — 

.«  Well."— 

"  Why  didn't  you  wash  the  wagon  as  I  told  you ?  '* 

"I  did." 

•'It's  all  over  slosh." 

"That's  Mr.-Didenhover's  work — he  had  it  out  day 'fore  yester* 
day  ;  and  if  you  want  it  cleaned,  Mr.  Ringgan,  you  must  speak  to 
him  about  itt  Mr.  Didenhover  may  file  his  own  doings  ;  it's  more 
than  I'm  a  going  to." 

The  old  gentleman  made  no  answer,  except  to  acquaint  the  mare 
with  the  fact  of  his-  being  in  readiness  to  set  out.  A  shade  of  annoy 
ance  and  displeasure  for  a  moment  was  upon  his  face  ;  but  the  gate 
opening  from  the  meadow  upon  the  high  road  had  hardly  swung 
back  upon  its  hinges  after  letting  them  out  when  he  recovered  the 
calm  sweetness  of  demeanor  that  was  habitual  with  him,  and  seemed 
as  well  as  his  little  granddaughter  to  have  given  care  the  go-by  for 
the  time.  Fleda  had  before  this  found  out  another  fault  in  the  har 
ness,  or  rather  in  Mr.  Didenhover,  which  like  a  wise  little  child  she 
kept  to  herself.  A  broken  place  which  her  grandfather  had  ordered 
to  be  properly  mended  was  still  tied  up  with  the  piece  of  rope  which 
had  offended  her  eyes  the  last  time  they  had  driven  out.  But  she 
said  not  a  word  of  it,  because  "  it  \vould  only  worry  grandpa  for 
nothing  ;  "  and  forgetting  it  almost  immediately  she  moved  on  with 
him  in  a  state  of  happiness  that  no  mud-stained  wagon  nor  untidy 
rope-bound  harness  could  stir  for  an  instant.  Her  spirit  was  like 
a  clear  still-running  stream  which  quietly  and  surely  deposits  every 
defiling  and  obscuring  admixture  it  may  receive  from  its  contact 
with  the  grosser  elements  around  ;  the  stream  might  for  a  moment 
be  clouded  ;  but  a  little  while,  and  it  would  run  as  clear. as  ever. 
Neither  Fleda  nor  her  grandfather  cared  a  jot  for  the  want 
of  elegancies  which  one  despised,  and  the  other  if  she  had 
ever  known  had  well  nigh  forgotten.  What  mattered  it  to  her  that 
the  little  old  green  wagon  was  rusty  and  worn,  or  that  years  and 
service  had  robbed  the  cM  mare  of  all  the  jauntiness  she  had  ever 
possessed,  so  long  as  the  sun  shone  and  the  birds  sang  ?  And  Mr. 
Ringgan,  in  any  imaginary  comparison,  might  be  pardoned  for 
thinking  that  he  was  the  proud  man,  and  that  his  poor  little  equipage 
carried  such  a  treasure  as  many  a  coach  and  four  went  without. 

"  Where  are  we  going  first,  grandpa  ?  to  the  post-office  1 " 

"Just  there!  " 

"  How  pleasant  it  is  to  go  there  always,  isn't  it,  gr  Ybtr 


QrrSFCHY.  0 

have  a  paper  to  get,  and  I — I  don't  very  often  get  a  letter,  but  I 
have  always  the  hope  of  getting  one  ;  and  that's  something.  Maybe 
I'll  have  one  to-day,  grandpa?  " 

"We'll  see.     It's  time  those  cousins  of  yours  wrote  to  you." 

"  O  they  don't  write  to  me — it's  only  Aunt  Lucy  ;  I  never  had  a 
letter  from  a  single  one  of  them,  except  once  from  little  Hugh, — 
don't  you  remember,  grandpa  ?  I  should  think  he  must  be  a  very 
nice  little  boy,  shouldn't  you?1' 

"  Little  boy  ?  why  I  guess  he  is  about  as  big  as  you  are,  Fleda^ 
he  is  eleven  years  old,  ain't  he  ?  " 

"Yes,  but  I  am  past  eleven,  you  know,  grandpa,  and  1  am  a  lit 
tie  girl." 

This  reasoning  being  unanswerable  Mr.  Ringgan  only  bade  the 
old  mare  trot  on. 

It  was  a  pleasant  day  in  autumn.  Fleda  thought  it  particularly 
peasant  for  riding,  for  the  sun  was  veiled  with  thin  hazy  clouds. 
The  air  was  mild  and  still,  and  the  woods,  like  brave  men,  putting 
the  best  face  upon  falling  fortunes.  Some  trees  were  already  drop 
ping  their  leaves  ;  the  greater  part  standing  in  all  the  varied  splen« 
dor  which  the  late  frosts  had  given  them.  The  road,  an  excellent 
one,  sloped  gently  up  and  down  across  a  wide  arable  country,  in  a 
state  of  high  cultivation  and  now  showing  all  the  rich  variety  of 
autumn.  The  reddish  buckwheat  patches,  and  fine  wood-tints  of 
the  fields  where  other  grain  had  been  ;  the  bright  green  of  young 
rye  or  winter  wheat,  then  soberer-colored  pasture  or  meadow  lands, 
and  ever  and  anon  a  tuft  of  gay  woods  crowning  a  rising  ground,  or 
a  knot  of  the  everlasting  pines  looking  sedately  and  steadfastly  upon 
the  fleeting  glories  of  the  world  around  them  ;  these  were  mingled 
and  interchanged  and  succeeded  each  other  in  ever-varying  fresh 
combinations.  With  its  high  picturesque  beauty  the  whole  scene 
had  a  look  of  thrift  and  plenty  and  promise  which  made  it  emi- 
nenily  cheerful.  So  Mr.  Ringgan  and  his:  little  granddaughter  both 
felt  it  to  be.  For  some  distance  the  grounds  on  either  hand  the 
road  were  part  of  the  old  gentleman's  farm  ;  and  many  a  remark 
was  exchanged  between  him  and  Fleda  as  to  the  excellence  or 
hopefulness  of  this  or  that  crop  or  piece  of  soil ;  Fleda  entering 
into  all  his  enthusiasm,  and  reasoning  of  clover  leys  and  cockle 
and  the  proper  harvesting  of  Indian  corn  and  other  like  matters, 
with  no  lack  of  interest,  or  intelligence. 

"  O  grandpa,"  she  exclaimed  suddenly,  "won't  you  stop  a  min- 
ate  and  let  me  get  out.  I  want  to  get  some  of  that  beautiful  bitter, 
sweet." 

"What  do  you  want  that  for?  ".said  he.  "You  can't  get  out 
very  well." 

"  O  yes  I  can — please,  grandpa  !  I  want  some  of  it  very  much- 
just  one  minute  !  " 

He  stopped,  and  Fleda  got  out  and  went  to  the  roadside,  where  a 
bittersweet  vine  had  climbed  into  a  young  pine  tree  and  hung  it  as 
it  were  with  red  coral.  But  her  one  minute  was  at  least  four  before 
she  had  succeeded  in  breaking  off  as  much  as  she  could  carry  ol 
the  splendid  creeper  ;  for  not  until  then  could  Fleda  persuade  her 
self  to  leave  it.  She  came  back  and  worked  her  way  up  into  the 
wagon  with  one  hand  full  as  it  could  hold  of  her  brilliant  trophic*. 


8  QUEEWY. 

"  Now  what  good']]  that  do  your  '  inquired  Mr.  Ringgan  good* 
humoredly,  as  he  lent  Fleda  what  help  he  could  to  her  seat. 

"  Why  grandpa,  I  want  it  to  put  with  cedar  and  pine  in  ajar  at 
home — it  will  keep  for  ever  so  long,  and  look  beautiful.  Isn't  that 
handsome? — only  it  was  a  pity  to  break  it." 

"Why  yes,  it's  handsome  enough,"  said  Mr.  Ringgan,  "but 
you've  got  something  just  by  the  front  door  there  at  home  that 
would  do  just  as  well — what  do  you  call  it  ? — that  flaming  thing 
there?" 

11  What,  my  burning  bush  ?  O  grandpa  !  I  wouldn't  cut  that  for 
any  thing  in  the  world  !  It's  the  only  pretty  thing  about  the  house ; 
and  besides,"  said  Fleda,  looking  up  with  a  softened  mien,  "you 
said  that  it  was  planted  by  my  mother.  O  grandpa !  I  wouldn't 
cut  that  for  any  thing." 

Mr.  Ringgan  laughed  a  pleased  laugh.  "  Well,  dear !  "  said  he, 
"  it  shall  grow  till  it's  as  big  as  the  house,  if  it  will." 

"  It  won't  do  that,"  said  Fleda.  "  But  I  am  very  glad  I  have 
got  this  bittersweet — this  is  just  what  I  wanted.  Now  if  I  can  only 
find  some  holly — " 

"We'll  come  across  some,  I  guess,  by  and  by,"  said  Mr.  Ring 
gan  ;  and  Fleda  settled  herself  again  to  enjoy  the  trees,  the  fields, 
the  roads,  and  all  the  small  handiwork  of  nature,  for  which  her 
eyes  had  a  curious  intelligence.  But  this  was  not  fated  to  be  a  ride 
of  unbroken  pleasure. 

"  Why  what  are  those  bars  down  for?  "  she  said  as  they  came  up 
with  a  field  of  winter  grain.  "Somebody's  been  in  here  with  a 
wagon.  O  grandpa  !  Mr.  Didenhover  has  let  the  Shakers  have  my 
butternuts! — the  butternuts  that  you  told  him  they  mustn't  have." 

The  old  gentleman  drew  up  his  horse.     "So  he  has  !  "  said  he. 

Their  eyes  were  upon  the  far  end  of  the  deep  lot,  where  at  the 
edge  of  one  of  the  pieces  of  woodland  spoken  of,  a  picturesque 
group  of  men  and  boys  in  frocks  and  broad-brimmed  white  hats 
were  busied  in  filling  their  wagons  under  a  clump  of  the  now  thin 
and  yellow  leaved  butternut  trees. 

"  The  scoundrel!  "  said  Mr.  Ringgan  under  his  breath. 

"  Would  it  be  any  use,  grandpa,  for  me  to  jump  down  and  run 
and  -tell  them  you  don't  want  them  to  take  the  butternuts? — I  shall 
have  so  few." 

"  No,  dear,  no,"  said  her  grandfather,  "they  have  got  'em  about 
all  by  this  time  ;  the  mischief's  done.  Didenhover  meant  to  let  'em 
have  'em  unknown  to  me,  and  pocket  the  pay  himself.  Get  up  1  " 

Fleda  drew  a  long  breath,  and  gave  a  hard  look  at  the  distant 
wagon  where  her  butternuts  were  going  in  by  handfuls.  She  said 
no  more. 

It  was  but  a  few  fields  further  on  that  the  old  gentleman  came  to 
a  sudden  stop  again. 

'•  Ain't  there  some  of  my  sheep  over  yonder  there,  Fleda, — along 
vvith  Squire  Thornton's?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  grarrdpa,"  said  Fleda, — "  I  can't  see— yes,  I  do 
see — yes,  they  are,  grandpa  ;  I  see  the  mark." 

"  I  thought  so!  "  saio1  Mr.  Ringgan  bitterly  ;  "I  told  Didenhover, 
only  three  days  ago,  that  if  he  didn't  make  up  that  fence  the  sheep 
would  be  out,  or  Squire  Thornton's  would  be  in  ; — only  three  days 


QUEECHY.  *« 

ago ! — Ah  well !  "  said  he,  shaking  the  reins  to  make  the  mani  move 
on  again, — "it's  all  of  a  piece. — Every  thing  goes — I  can't  help  it." 

"Why  do  you  keep  him,  grandpa,  if  he  don't  behave  right?" 
Fleda  ventured  to  ask  gently. 

"  'Cause  I  can't  get  rid  of  him,  dear,"  Mr.  Ringgan  answered 
rather  shortly. 

And  till  they  got  to  the  post-office  he  seemed  in  a  disagreeable 
kind  of  muse,  which  Fleda  did  not  choose  to  break  in  upon.  So  the 
mile  and  a  half  was  driven  in  sober  silence. 

"  Shall  I  get  out  and  go  in,  grandpa?"  said  Fleda  when  he  drev 
mp  before  the  house. 

"  No,  deary,"  said  he  in  his  usual  kind  tone  ;  "  you  sit  still. 
Holloa  there  ! — Good-day,  Mr.  Sampion — have  you  got  any  thing 
for  me ! " 

The  man  disappeared  and  came  out  again. 

"  There's  your  paper,  grandpa,"  said  Fleda. 

"Ay,  and  something  else,"  said  Mr.  Ringgan:  "  I  declare! — 
•Miss  Fleda  Ringgan — care  of  E.  Ringgan,  Esq.* — There,  dear, 
there  it  is." 

"Paris!"  exclaimed  Fleda,  as  she  clasped  the  letter  and  both 
her  hands  together.  The  butternuts  and  Mr.  Didenhover  were  for 
gotten  at  last.  The  letter  could  not  be  read  in  the  jolting  of  the 
wagon,  but,  as  Fleda  said,  it  was  all  the  pleasanter,  for  she  had  the 
expectation  of  it  the  whole  way  home. 

"  Where  are  we  going  now,  grandpa?" 

"  To  Queechy  Run." 

"  That  will  give  us  a  nice  long  ride.  I  am  very  glad.  This  has 
been  a  good  day.  With  my  letter  and  my  bittersweet  I  have  got 
enough,  haven't  I,  grandpa?  " 

Queechy  Run  was  a  little  village,  a  very  little  village,  about  half  a 
mile  from  Mr.  Ringgan's  house.  It  boasted  however  a  decent  brick 
church  of  some  size,  a  school-house,  a  lawyer's  office,  a  grocery 
store,  and  a  dozen  or  two  of  dwelling-houses,  and  a  post-office  ; 
though  for  some  reason  or  other  Mr.  Ringgan  always  chose  to  have 
his  letters  come  through  the  Sattlersville  post-office,  a  mile  and  a 
half  further  off.  At  the  door  of  the  lawyer's  office  Mr.  Ringgara 
again  stopped,  and  again  shouted  "  Holloa!  " — 

tj  Good-day,  sir.     Is  Mr.  Jolly  within?" 

"  He  is,  sir." 

"  Will  you  ask  him  to  be  so  good  as  to  step  here  a  moment  ?  1 
cannot  very  well  get  out." 

Mr.  Jolly  was  a  comfortable-looking  little  man,  smooth  and  sleek, 
pleasant  and  plausible,  reasonable  honest  too,  as  the  world  goes  ;  a 
nice  man  to  have  to  do  with,  the  world  went  so  easy  with  his  affairs 
that  you  were  sure  he  would  make  no  unnecessary  rubs  in  your 
own.  He  came  now  fresh  and  brisk  to  the  side  of  the  wagon,  with 
that  uncommon  hilarity  which  people  sometimes  assume  when  they 
have  a  disagreeable  matter  on  hand  that  must  be  spoken  of. 

"Good-morning,  sir!     Fine  day,  Mr.  Jolly." 

"  Beautiful  day,  sir!  Splendid  season!  How  do  you  do,  Mr. 
Ringgan?  " 

"  Why,  sir,  I  never  was  better  in  my  life,  barring  this  lameness, 
that  disables  me  very  mucii.  I  can't  go  about  and  see  to  things 


10  qUEEGHT. 

Ringgan, — "there,  through  those  white  birch  sterns?  That's  what 
you  were  wanting,  Fleda,  ain't  it?  Give  your  bittersweet  tome 
while  you  go  get  some, — and  here,  take  this  knife  dear,  you  can't 
break  it.  Don't  cut  yourself." 

Fleda' s  eyes  were  too  dim  to  see  white  birch  or  holly,  and  s?ie 
had  no  longer  the  least  desire  to  have  the  latter  ;  but  with  that  in 
fallible  tact  which  assuredly  is  the  gift  of  nature  and  no  other,  she 
answered,  in  a  voice  that  she  forced  to  be  clear,  "Oyes!  thank 
you,  grandpa  ;  " — and  stealthily  dashing  away  the  tears  clambered 
down  from  the  rickety  little  wagon  and  plunged  with  a  cheerful  step 
at  least  through  trees  and  underbrush  to  the  clump  of  holly.  But 
if  any  body  had  seen  Fleda's  face  ! — while  she  seemed  to  be  busied 
in  cutting  as  large  a  quantity  as  possible  of  the  rich  shining  leaves 
and  bright  berries.  Her  grandfather's  kindness  and  her  effort  to 
meet  it  had  wrung  her  heart ;  she  hardly  knew  what  she  was  doing, 
as  she  cut  off  sprig  after  sprig  and  threw  them  down  at  her  feet ; 
she  was  crying  sadly,  with  even  audible  sobs.  She  made  a  long 
job  of  her  bunch  of  holly.  But  when  at  last  it  must  come  to  an 
end  she  choked  back  her  tears,  smoothed  her  face,  and  came  back 
to  Mr.  Ringgan  smiling  and  springing  over  the  stones  and  shrubs 
in  her  way,  and  exclaiming  at  the  beauty  of  her  vegetable  stores. 
If  her  cheeks  were  red  he  thought  it  was  the  flush  of  pleasure  and 
exercise,  and  she  did  not  let  him  get  a  good  look  at  her  eyes. 

"  Why  you've  got  enough  to  dress  up  the  front  room  chimney," 
Said  he.  "  That'll  be  the  best  thing  you  can  do  with  'em,  won't  it?  " 

"The  front  room  chimney!  No,  indeedyj^JJtek,  grandpa.  I 
don't  want  'em  where  nobody  can  see  tlicjf&yd  you  know  we  are 
never  in  there  now  it  is  cold  weather."  JR 

"  Well,  dear!  anyhow  you  like  to  havT^f.4  • 'But  you  ha'n't  ajar 
in  the  house  big  enough  for  them,  have  youn||jlC' 

"  O  I'll  manage — I've  got  an  old  broken  pitcher  without  a  handle 
grandpa,  that'll  do  very  well." 

"  A  broken  pitcher  !  that  isn't  a  very  elegant  vase,"  said  he. 

"  O  you  wouldn't  know  it  is  a  pitcher  when  I  have  fixed  it.  I'll 
cover  up  all  the  broken  part  with  green,  you  know.  Are  we  going 
home  now,  grandpa?" 

"  No,  I  want  to  stop  a  minute  at  uncle  Joshua's." 

Uncle  Joshua  was  a  brother-in-law  of  Mr.  Ringgan,  a  substantial 
farmer  and  very  well  to  do  in  the  world.  He  was  found  not  in  the 
house  but  abroad  in  the  field  with  his  men,  loading  an  enormous 
basket-wagon  with  corn-stalks.  At  Mr.  Ringgan's  shout  he  got 
over  the  fence  and  came  to  the  wagon-side.  His  face  showed 
sense  and  shrewdness,  but  nothing  of  the  open  nobility  of  mien 
which  nature  had  stamped  upon  that  of  his  brother. 

"Fine  morning,  eh?"  said  he.  "I'm  getting  in  my  corn' 
stalks." 

"So  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Ringgan.  V  How  do  you  find  the  new  way 
of  curing  them  answer  ?  " 

"  Fine  as  ever  you  see.  Sweet  as  a  nut.  The  cattle  are  mad 
after  them.  How  are  you  going  to  be  off  for  fodder  this  winter  ?  " 

"It's  more  than  I  can  tell  you,"  said  Mr.  Ringgan.  "There 
ought  to  be  more  than  plenty  ;  but  Didenhover  contrives  to  bring 
•very  thing  out  at  the  wrong  end.  I  wish  I  was  rid  of  him." 


QUEECHY,  11 

"  He'll  never  get  a  berth  with  me,  I  can  tell  you,"  said  uncle 
Joshua  laughing. 

"  Brother,"  said  Mr.  Ringgan,  lowering  his  tone  again,  "have 
you  any  loose  cash  you  could  let  me  have  for  six  months  or  so? " 

Uncle  Joshua  took  a  meditative  look  down  the  road,  turned  a 
quid  of  tobacco  in  his  cheek>  and  finally  brought  his  eyes  again  to 
Mr.  Ringgan  and  answered. 

"Well,  I  don't  see  as  I  can,"  said  he.  "  You  see,  Josh  is  just  a 
going  to  set  up  for  himself  at  Kenton,  and  he'll  want  some  help  of 
me  ;  and  I  expect  that'll  be  about  as  much  as  I  can  manage  to  lay 
my  hands  on." 

"  Do  you  know  who  has  any  that  he  would  be  likely  to  lend?" 
said  Mr.  Ringgan. 

"  No,  I  don't.     Money  is  rather  scarce.     For  your  rent,  eh  ?" 

"  Yes,  for  my  rent !  The  farm  brings  me  in  nothing  but  my  liv 
ing.  That  Didenhover  is  ruining  me,  brother  Joshua." 

"  He's  feathering  his  own  nest,  I  reckon." 

"  You  may  swear  to  that.  There  wa'n't  as  many  bushels  oi 
grain,  by  one  fourth,  when  they  were  threshed  out  last  year,  as  I 
had  calculated  there  would  be  in  the  field.  I  don't  know  what 
on  earth  he  could  have  done  with  it.  I  suppose  it'll  be  the  same 
tiling  over  this  year." 

11  Maybe  he  has  served  you  as  Deacon  Travis  was  served  by  one 
of  his  help  last  season — the  rascal  bored  holes  in  the  granary  floor 
and  let  out  the  corn  so,  and  Travis  couldn't  contrive  how  his  grain 
went  till  the  flMjL  was  empty  next  spring,  and  then  he  see  how  it 

"  Ha  ! — did  he  catcMhe  fellow  ?  " 

41  Not  he*— he  haoV^afte  tracks  before  that.  A  word  in  your  ear 
—I  wouldn'tSet  Dide-imover  see  much  of  his  salary  till  you  know 
how  he  will  come  biatat  the  end." 

"  He  has  got  it  already  !  "  said  Mr.  Ringgan,  with  a  nervous 
twitch  at  the  old  mare's  head  ;  "he  wheedled  me  out  of  several  little 
sums  on  one  pretence  and  another, — he  had  a  brother  in  New  York 
that  he  wanted  to  send  some  to,  and  goods  that  he  wanted  to  get 
out  of  pawn,  and  so  on, — and  I  let  him  have  it !  and  then  there  was 
one  of  those  fatting  steers  that  he  proposed  to  me  to  let  him  have  on 
account,  and  I  thought  it  was  as  good  a  way  of  paying  him 
as  any  ;  and  that  made  up  pretty  near  the  half  of  what  was  due  to 
him." 

"  I  warrant  you  his'n  was  the  fattest  of  the  whole  lot.  Wellc 
keep  a  tight  hold  of  the  other  half,  brother  Elzevir,  that's  my  ad- 
rice  to  you." 

"  The  other  half  he  was  to  make  upon  shares."  , 

"  Whew  ! — well — I  wish  you  well  rid  of  him  ;  and  don't  make 
such  another  bargain  again.  Good-day  to  ye  !  " 

It  was  with  a  keen  pang  that  little  Fleda  saw  the  down-hearted 
look  of  her  grandfather  as  again  he  gave  the  old  mare  notice  to 
move  on.  A  few  minutes  passed  in  deep  thought  on  both  sides. 

"Grandpa,"  said  Fleda,  "wouldn't  Mr.  Jolly  perhaps  knov\  ".{ 
some!x)dy  that  might  have  some  money  to  lend  ?  " 

"I  declare! "said  the  old  gentleman  after  a  moment,  •« that's 
not  a  bad  thought.  I  wonder  I  didn't  have  it  myself.'* 


19  QUEEtfHY. 

The  turned  aoout,  and  without  any  more  words  measured  back 
their  way  to  Queechy  Run.  Mr.  Jolly  came  out  again,  brisk  and 
alert  as  ever  ;  but  after  seeming  to  rack  his  brains  in  search  of  any 
actual  or  possible  money-lender  was  obliged  to  confess  that  it  was  in 
vain  ;  he  could  not  think  of  one. 

"  But  I'll  tell  you  what,  Mr.  Ringgan,"  he  concluded,  "  I'41turn 
it  over  in  my  mind  to-night  and  see  if  I  can  think  of  any  thing 
that'll  do,  and  if  I  can  I'll  let  you  know.  If  we  hadn't  such  a 
nether  millstone  to  deal  with,  it  would  be  easy  enough  to  work  it 
somehow." 

So  they  set  forth  homeward  again. 

"  Cheer  un,  dear!  "  said  the  old  gentleman  heartily,  laying  one 
hand  on  his  little  granddaughter's  lap, — "  it  will  be  arranged  some 
how.  Don't  you  worry  your  little  head  with  business.  God  will 
take  care  of  us." 

"  Yes,  grandpa  !  "  said  the  little  girl,  looking  up  with  an  instant 
sense  of  relief  at  these  words ;  and  then  looking  down  again  im 
mediately  to  burst  into  tears. 


CHAPTER  IL 

Have  you  seen  but  a  bright  lily  grow, 

Before  rude  hands  have  touch'd  it? 
Ha'  you  mark'd  but  the  fall  o'  the  snow, 

Before  the  soil  hath  smutch 'd  it  ?     •  < 

.    BEN  JCWSON. 

WHERE  a  ray  of  light  can  enter  the  future,  a  child's  hope  can  fincj 
a  way — a  way  that  nothing  less  airy  and  spiritual  cetfi  travel.  By 
the  time  they  reached  their  own  door  Fleda's  spirits  were  at  par 
again. 

"  1  am  very  glad  we  have  got  home,  aren't  you,  grandpa  ?  "  she 
said  as  she  jumped  down  ;  "  I'm  so  hungry.  I  guess  we  are  both 
of  us  ready  for  supper,  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

She  hurried  up  stairs  to  take  off  her  wrappings  and  then  came 
down  to  the  kitchen,  where  standing  on  the  broad  hearth  and 
warming  herself  at  the  blaze,  with  all  the  old  associations  of  corn- 
tort  settling  upon  her  heart,  it  occurred  to  her  that  foundations  so 
established  could  not  be  shaken.  The  blazing  fire  seemed  to  wel 
come  her  home  and  bid  her  dismiss  fear  ;  the  kettle  singing  on  its 
accustomed  hook  looked  as  if  quietly  ridiculing  the  idea  that  they 
could  be  parted  company  ;  her  grandfather  was  in  his  cushioned 
chair  at  the  corner  of  the  hearth,  reading  the  newspaper,  as  she  had 
seen  him  a  thousand  times  ;  just  in  the  same  position,  with  that  col 
lected  air  of  grave  enjoyment,  one  leg  crossed  over  the  other,  set 
tled  back  in  his  chair  but  upright,  and  scanning  the  columns  with  an 
intent  but  most  un-careful  face.  A  face  it  was  that  always  had  a 
rare  union  of  fineness  and  placidness.  The  table  stood  spread  in 
the  usual  place,  warmth  and  comfort  filled  every  corner  of  the 
room,  and  Fled  a  began  to  feel  as  if  she  had  been  in  an  uncomfort 
able  dream,  which  was  very  absurd,  but  from  which  she  was  verf 
glad  she  had  awoke. 


QUEECHY.  t5 

M  What  have  you  got  in  this  pitcher,  Cynthy  ? ' '  said  ske. 
«'  Muffins  !— O  let  me  bake  them,  will  you  ?  I'll  bake  them." 

••Now  Flidda,"  said  Cynthy,  "just  you  be  quiet.  There  ain't 
no  place  where  you  can  bake  'em.  I'm  just  going  to  clap  'em  in 
the  reflector — that's  the  shortest  way  I  can  take  to  do  'em.  You 
keep  yourself  out  o'  muss." 

'•  They  won't  be  muffins  if  you  bake  'ern  in  the  reflector,  Cynthy ; 
they  aren't  half  so  good.  Ah,  do  let  trie  1  1  won't  make  a  fck  ol 
BUSS.  ' ' 

"  Where' 11  you  do  'em  ?  " 

"  In  grandpa's  room — if  you'll  just  clean  off  the  top  of  the  st«v« 
for  me— now  do,  Cynthy  !  I'll  do  'em  beautifully,  and  you  won't 
have  a  bit  of  trouble. — Come  !  " 

"  It'll  make  an  awful  smoke,  Flidda  ;  you'll  fill  your  grandpa's 
room  with  the  smoke,  and  he  won't  like  ihat,  I  guess." 

"  O  he  won't  mind  it."  said  Fleda.     "  Will  you,  grandpa  ?  " 

"  What,  dear?  " — said  Mr.  Ringgan,  looking  up  at  her  from  his 
paper  with  a  relaxing  face  which  indeed  promised  to  take  nothing 
amiss  that  she  might  do. 

18  Will  you  mind  if  I  fill  your  room  with  smoke  ?  " 

••  No,  dear!  "  said  he,  the  strong  heartiness  of  his  acquiescence 
almost  reaching  a  laugh,—"  No,  dear !— fill  it  with  anything  you 
like!" 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  said  ;  and  while  Fleda  in  triumph 
put  on  an  apron  and  made  her  preparations,  Cynthy  on  her  part, 
and  with  a  very  good  grace,  went  to  get  ready  the  stove  ;  which 
being  a  wood  stove,  made  of  sheet  iron,  with  a  smooth  even  top, 
afforded  in  Fleda's  opinion  the  very  best  possible  field  for  muffins 
to  come  to  their  perfection.  Now  Fleda  cared  little  in  comparison 
for  the  eating  part  of  the  business  ;  her  delight  was  by  the  help  of 
her  own  skill  and  the  stove-top  to  bring  the  muffins  to  this  state  of 
perfection ;  her  greatest  pleasure  in  them  was  over  when  they  were 
baked. 

A  little  while  had  passed,  Mr.  Ringgan  was  still  busy  wilh  his 
newspaper,  Miss  Cynthia  Gall  going  in  and  out  on  various  errands, 
Fleda  shut  up  in  the  distant  room  with  the  muffins  and  the  smoke  ; 
when  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Mr.  Ringgan's  "  Come 
"si !  " — was  followed  by  the  entrance  of  two  strangers,  young,  well= 
Iressed,  and  comely.  They  wore  the  usual  badges  of  seekere 
ifter  game,  but  their  guns  were  left  outside. 

The  old  gentleman's  look  of  grave  expectancy  told  his  want  of 
enlightening. 

"  I  fear  you  do  not  remember  me,  Mr.  Ringgan,"  said  the  fort- 
most  of  the  two  coming  up  to  him, — "my  name  is  Rossitur — 
Charlton  Rossitur — a  cousin  of  your  little  granddaughter.  I  have 
only ' ' 

"  O  I  know  you  now  !  "  said  Mr.  Ringgan,  rising  and  grasping 
his  hand  heartily, — "  you  are  very  welcome,  sir.  How  do  you  dk>  ? 
I  recollect  you  perfectly,  but  you  took  me  by  surprise. — How  do 
you  do,  sir  ?  Sit  down — sit  down." 

And  the  old  gentleman  had  extended  his  frank  welcome  to  the 
second  of  his  visitors  almost  before  the  first  had 

"  My  friend  Mr.  Carleton." 


14  QUEECPY. 

"  I  couldn't  imagine  what  was  coming  upon  me,"  said  Mr.  Ring- 
gan  cheerfully,  "for  you  weren't  anywhere  very  near  my  thoughts  , 
and  I  don't  often  see  much  of  the  gay  world  that  is  passing  by  me. 
You  have  grown  since  I  saw  you  last,  Mr.  Rossitur.  You  are  study 
ing  at  West  Point,  I  believe." 

"  No  sir  ;  I  was  studying  there,  but  I  had  the  pleasure  of  bring, 
ing  that  to  an  end  last  June." 

"Ah  ! — Well,  what  are  you  now ?  not  a  cadet  any  longer,  I  sup« 
po«e." 

••  No  sir — we  hatch  out  of  that  shell  lieutenants," 

••  Hum. — And  do  you  intend  to  remain  in  the  army  ?" 

"  Certainly  sir,  that  is  my  purpose  and  hope." 

"  Your  mother  would  not  like  that,  I  should  judge.  I  do  not 
understand  how  she  ever  made  up  her  mind  to  let  you  become  that 
thing  which  hatches  out  into  a  lieutenant.  Gentle  creature  she  and 
her  sister  both  were. — How  was  it  Mr.  Rossitur?  were  you  a  wild 
young  gentleman  that  wanted  training?" 

"I  have  had  it  sir,  whether  I  wanted  it  or  no." 

"Hum! — How  is  he,  Mr.  Carleton? — sober  enough  to  com 
mand  men  ?  " 

"I  have  not  seen  him  tried,  sir,"  said  this  gentleman  smiling  ; 
"but  from  the  inconsistency  of  the  orders  he  issues  to  his  dogs  I 
doubt  it  exceedingly." 

"  Why  Carleton  would  have  no  orders  issued  to  them  at  all,  I  be 
lieve,"  said  young  Rossitur;  "he  has  been  saying  'hush'  tome 
all  day." 

The  old  gentleman  laughed  in  a  way  that  indicated  intelligence 
with  one  of  the  speakers, — which,  appeared  not, 

"  So  you've  been  following  the  dogs  to-day/'  said  he.  "  Been 
successful  ? ' ' 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Rossitur.  "Whether  we  got  on  the 
wrong  grounds,  or  didn't  get  on  the  right  ones,  or  the  dogs  didn't 
mind  their  business,  or  there  was  nothing  to  fire  at,  I  don't  know; 
but  we  lost  our  patience  and  got  nothing  in  exchange." 

"  Speak  for  yourself,"  said  the  other.  "  I  assure  you  I  was  sen 
sible  of  no  ground  of  impatience  while  going  over  such  a  superb 
country  as  this." 

"  It  is  a  fine  country,"  said  Mr.  Ringgan, — "  all  this  tract ;  and 
I  ought  to  know  it,  for  I  have  hunted  every  mile  of  it  for  many  a 
'mile  around.  There  used  to  be  more  game  than  partridges  in  these 
hills  when  I  was  a  young  man  ; — bears  and  wolves,  and  deer,  and 
now  and  then  a  panther,  to  say  nothing  of  rattlesnakes." 

"That  last-.nentioned  is  an  irregular  sort  of  game,  is  it  not ?" 
s*id  Mr.  Carleton  smiling. 

•'  Well,  game  is  what  you  choose  to  make  it,"  said  the  old  gentle 
man.  "I  have  seen  worse  days'  sport  than  I  saw  once  when  we 
were  out  after  rattlesnakes  and  nothing  else.  There  was  a  cave,  sir, 
down  under  a  mountain  a  few  miles  to  the  south  of  this,  right  at  the 
foot  of  a  bluff  some  four  or  five  hundred  feet  sheer  clown, —  it  was 
known  to  be  a  resort  of  those  creatures;  and  a  party  of  us  went 
out, — it's  many  years  ago  now, — to  see  if  we  couldn't  destroy  the 
nest — exte"rv>'r'ot'a  f^#»  whole  horde.  We  had  one  dog  with  us, — a 
little  dog,;  aniel;  a  little  white  and  yellow  fellow, — and 


QUEECHT.  15 

fce  did  the  work !  Well,  sir,— how  many  of  those  vermin  do  you 
guess  that  little  creature  made  a  finish  of  that  day  ? — of  large  and 
small,  sir,  there  were  two  hundred  and  twelve." 

"  He  must  have  been  a  gallant  little  fellow." 

"  You  never  saw  a  creature,  sir,  take  to  a  sport  better  ;  he  just 
dashed  in  among  them,  from  one  to  another, — he  would  catch  a 
snake  by  the  neck  and  give  it  a  shake,  and  throw  it  down  and  rush 
at  another; — poor  fellow,  it  was  his  last  day's  sport, — he  died  al« 
most  as  soon  as  it  was  over  ;  he  must  have  received  a  great  manj 
bites.  The  place  is  known  as  the  rattlesnakes'  den  to  this  dayt 
hough  there  are  none  there  now,  I  believe." 

"My  little  cousin  is  well,  I  hope,"  said  Mr.  Rossitur. 

"  She  ?  yes,  bless  her !  she  is  always  well.  Where  is  she  ?  Fairy, 
where  are  you? — Cynthy,  just  call  Elfleda  here." 

"  She's  just  in  the  thick  of  the  muffins,  Mr.  Ringgan." 

"  Let  the  muffins  burn  !     Call  her." 

Miss  Cynthia  accordingly  opened  a  little  way  the  door  of  the 
passage,  from  which  a  blue  stifling  smoke  immediately  made  its 
way  into  the  room,  and  called  out  to  Fleda,  whose  little  voice  was 
heard  faintly  responding  from  the  distance. 

"  It's  a  wonder  she  can  hear  through  all  that  smoke,"  remarked 
Cynthia. 

"  She,"  said  Mr.  Ringgan  laughing, — "  she's  playing  cook  or 
housekeeper  in  yonder,  getting  something  ready  for  tea.  She's  a 
busy  little  spirit,  if  ever  there  was  one.  Ah  !  there  she  is.  Come 
here,  Fieda — here's  your  cousin  Rossitur  from  West  Point — and 
Mr.  Carleton." 

Fleda  made  her  appearance  flushed  with  the  heat  of  the  stove 
and  the  excitement  of  turning  the  muffins,  and  the  little  iron  spatula 
she  used  for  that  purpose  still  in  her  hand  ;  and  a  fresh  and  larger 
puff  of  the  unsavory  blue  smoke  accompanied  her  entrance.  She 
came  forward  however  gravely  and  without  the  slightest  embarrass 
ment  to  receive  her  cousin's  somewhat  unceremonious  "  How  do, 
Fleda?" — and  keeping  the  spatula  still  in  one  hand  shook  hands 
with  him  with  the  other.  But  at  the  very  different  manner  in 
which  Mr.  Carleton  rose  and  greeted  her,  the  flush  on  Fleda's 
cheek  deepened,  and  she  cast  down  her  eyes  and  stepped  back  to 
her  grandfather's  side  with  the  demureness  of  a  young  lady  just 
undergoing  the  ceremony  of  presentation. 

"  You  come  upon  us  out  of  a  cloud,  Fleda,"  said  her  cousin. 
"Is  that  the  way  you  have  acquired  a  right  to  the  name  of 
Fairy?" 

"I  am  sure,  no,"  said  Mr.  Carleton. 

Fleda  did  not  lift  up  her  eyes,  but  her  mounting  color  showed 
that  she  understood  both  speeches. 

11  Because  if  you  are  in  general  such  a  misty  personage,"  Mr. 
Rossitur  went  on  half  laughing,  "  I  would  humbly  recommend  a 
choice  of  incense." 

"  O  I  forgot  to  open  the  windows!"  exclaimed  Fleda  ingenu 
ously.  "  Cynthy;  won't  you  please  go  and  do  it?  And  take  this 
with  you,"  said  she,  holding  out  the  spatula. 

"  She  is  as  good  a  fairy  as  /want  to  see,"  said  her  grandfather, 
passing  his  arm  fondly  round  her.  "  She  carries  a  ray  of 


*«  QUEECffr. 

in  her  right  hand  ;  and  that's  as  magic-working  a  wand  as  any 

fairy  ever  wielded, — hey,  Mr.  Carleton  ?  " 

Mr.  Carleton  bowed.  But  whether  the  sunshme  of  affection  in 
Fleda's  glance  and  smile  at  her  grandfather  made  him  feel  that  she 
was  above  a  compliment,  or  whether  it  put  the  words  out  of  his 
head,  certain  it  is  that  he  uttered  none. 

"So  you've  had  bad  success  fo-day,"  continued  Mr.  Ringgun, 
"  Where  have  you  been  ?  and  what  after?  partridges?  " 

"  No  sir,  '  said  Mr.  Carleton,  "my  friend  Rossitur  promised  me 
a  rare  bag  of  woodcock,  which  I  understand  to  be  the  best  of 
American  feathered  game  ;  and  in  pursuance  of  his  promise  led  me 
over  a  large  extent  of  meadow  and  swamp  land  this  morning,  with 
which  in  the  course  of  several  hours  I  became  extremely  familiar, 
without  flushing  a  single  bird." 

"  Meadow  and  swamp  land  ?  "  said  the  old  gentleman.  "  Where- 
abouts  ? ' ' 

"  A  mile  or  more  beyond  the  little  village  over  here  where  we  left 
our  horses,"  said  Rossitur.  "  We  beat  the  ground  well,  but  there 
were  no  signs  of  them  even."  - 

"  We  had  not  the  right  kind  of  dog,"  said  Mr.  Carleton. 

"  We  had  the  kind  that  is  always  used  here,"  said  Rossitur ;  "  no 
body  knows  anything  about  a  Cocker  in  America." 

"  Ah,  it  was  too  wet,*' said  Mr.  Ringgan.  "I  could  have  told 
you  that.  There  has  been  too  much  rain.  You  wouldn't  find  a 
woodcock  in  that  swamp  after  such  a  day  as  we  had  a  few  days  ago. 
But  speaking  of  game,  Mr.  Rossitur,  I  don't  know  anything  in 
America  equal  to  the  grouse.  It  is  far  before  woodcock.  I  re 
member,  many  years  back,  going  a  grouse  shooting,  I  and  a  friend, 
down  in  Pennsylvania, — we  went  two  or  three  days  running,  and 
the  birds  we  got  were  worth  a  whole  season  of  woodcock. — But 
gentlemen,  if  you  are  not  discouraged  with  your  day's  experience 
and  want  to  try  again,  /'//  put  you  in  the  way  tc  get  as  many  wood 
cock  as  will  satisfy  you — if  you'll  come  here  to-morrow  morning  I'll 
go  out  with  you  far  enough  to  show  you  the  way  to  the  'best  ground 
/  know  for  shooting  that  game  in  all  this  country  ;  you'll  have  a 
good  chance  for  partridges  too  in  the  course  of  the  day  ;  and  that 
ain't  bad  eating,  when  you  can't  get  better— is  it,  Fairy  ?  "  he  said, 
with  a  sudden  smiling  appeal  to  the  little  girl  at  his  side.  Her  an« 
swer  again  was  only  an  intelligent  glance. 

The  young  sportsmen  both  thanked  him  and  promised  to  take 
advantage  of  his  kind  offer.  Fleda  seized  the  opportunity  to  steal 
another  look  at  the  strangers  ;  but  meeting  Mr.  Carleton's  eyes 
fixed  on  her  with  a  remarkably  soft  and  gentle  expression  she 
withdrew  her  own  again  as  fast  as  possible,  and  came  to  the  con 
clusion  that  the  only  safe  place  for  them  was  the  floor. 

"  I  wish  I  was  a  little  younger  and  I'd  take  my  gun  and  go  along 
with  you  myseif,"  said  the  old  gentleman  pleasantly;  "but,"  he 
added  sighing,  "there  is  a  time  for  everything,  and  my  time  for 
sporting  is  past." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  complain,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  with  a 
meaning  glance  and  smile  which  the  old  gentleman  took  in  excel 
lent  good  part, 

"Well/'  said  he,  looking  half  proudly,  half  tenderly,  upon  tfe* 


QVEECHY.  17 

Kttle  demure  figure  at  his  side,  "  I  don't  say  mat  I  have.  I  hope  I 
thank  God  for  his  mercies,  and  am  happy.  r>ut  in  this  world,  Mr. 
Carleton,  there  is  hardly  a  blessing  but  what  draws  a  care  after  it. 
Well — well — these  things  will  all  be  arranged  for  us!  " 

It  was  plain,  however,  even  to  a  stranger,  that  there  was  some 
subject  of  care  not  vague  nor  undefined  pressing  upon  Mr,  Ring- 
gan's  mind  as  he  said  this. 

•'  Have  you  heard  from  my  mother  lately,  Fleda?"  said  het 
cousin. 

"  Why  yes,"  said  Mr.  Ringgan, — "she  had  a  letter  from  her 
only  to-day.  You  ha'n't  read  it  yet,  have  you,  Fleda  ?" 

"  No  grandpa,"  said  the  little  girl ;  "  you  know  I've  been  busy.  ' 

"Ay,"  said  the  old  gentleman  ;  "why  couldn't  you  let  Cynthia 
bake  the  cakes,  and  not  roast  yourself  over  the  stove  till  you're  as 
red  as  a  turkey-cock  ?  " 

"This  morning  I  was  like  a  chicken,"  said  Fleda  laughing,  "  and 
now  like  a  turkey-cock." 

"Shall  I  tell  mamma,'  Fleda,"  said  young  Rossitur,  "  that  you 
put  off  reading  her  letter  to  bake  muffins?" 

Fleda  answered  without  looking  up,  "  Yes.'if  he  pleased/' 

"  What  do  you  suppose  she  will  think?" 

••  I  don't  know." 

••  She  will  think  that  you  love  muffins  better  than  her." 

••  No,"  said  Fleda,  quietly  but  firmly, — "  she  will  not  think  that, 
because  it  isn't  true." 

The  gentlemen  laughed,  but  Mr.  Carleton  declared  that  Fleda' s 
reasoning  was  unanswerable. 

"Well,  I  will  see  you  to-morrow,"  said  Mr.  Rossitur,  "  after  you 
have  read  the  letter,  for  I  suppose  you  will  read  it  some  time.  You 
should  have  had  it  before, — it  came  enclosed  to  me, — but  I  forgot 
unaccountably  to  mail  it  to  you  till  a  few  days  ago." 

"  It  will  be  just  as  good  now,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Ringgan. 

"There  is  a  matter  in  it  though,"  said  Rossitur,  "  about  which 
my  mother  has  given  me  a  charge.  We  will  see  you  to-morrow. 
It  was  for  that  partly  we  turned  out  of  our  way  this  evening." 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  did,"  said  Mr.  Ringgan.  "  I  hope  your 
way  will  bring  you  here  often.  Won't  you  stay  and  try  some  of 
these  same  muffins  before  you  go?" 

But  this  was  declined,  and  the  gentleman  departed ;  Fleda,  it 
piust  be  confessed,  seeing  nothing  in  the  vhole  leave-taking  but 
Mr.  Carleton' s  look  and  smile.  The  muffins  were  a  very  tame 
affair  after  it. 

When  supper  was  over  she  sat  down  fairly  to  her  letter^  and  read 
it  twice  through  before  she  folded  it  up.  By  this  time  the  room  was 
clear  both  of  the  tea  equipage  and  of  v  Cynthia's  presence,  and 
Fleda  and  her  grandfather  were  alone  in  the  darkening  twilight 
with  the  blazing  wood  fire  ;  he  in  his  usual  place  at  the  side,  and 
she  on  the  hearth  directly  before  it ;  both  silent,  both  thinking,  for 
same  time.  At  length  Mr.  Ringgan  spoke,  breaking  as  it  were  the 
silence  and  his  seriousness  with  the  same  effort. 

"  Well  dear!  "  said  he  cheerfully, — "  what  does  she  say  ?  " 

"  O  she  says  a  great  many  things,  grandpa ;  shall  I  read  you  the 
tetter?" 


QUEECKT. 

*•  No  dear,  I  don't  care  to  hear  it ;  only  tell  me  what  she  says,'* 

"She  says  they  are  going  to  stay  in  Paris  yet  a  good  while 
longer. " 

"Hum!" — said  Mr.  Ringgan.  "Well — that  ain't  the  wisest 
thing  I  should  like  to  hear  of  her  doing." 

"Oh  but  it's  because  uncle  Rossitur  likes  to  stay  there,  I  suppose, 
isn't  it,  grandpa?" 

"I  don't  know,  dear.  Maybe  your  aunt's  caught  the  French 
fever,  She  used  to  be  a  good  sensible  woman  ;  but  when  people 
will  go  into  a  whirligig,  I  think  some  of  their  wits  get  blown  away 
>efore  they  come  out.  Well — what  else  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  she  is  very  kind,"  said  Fleda.  •'  She  wants  to  have 
me  go  out  there  and  live  with  her  very  much.  She  says  I  shall 
have  everything  I  like  and  do  just  as  I  please,  and  she  will  make  a 
pet  of  me  and  give  me  all  sorts  of  pleasant  things.  She  says 
she  will  take  as  good  care  of  me  as  ever  I  took  of  the  kittens. 
And  there's  a  long  piece  to  you  about  it,  that  I'll  give  you  to  read 
as  soon  as  we  have  a  light.  It  is  very  good  of  her,  isn't  itt 
grandpa  ?  I  love  aunt  Lucy  very  much." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.*  Ringgan  after  a  pause,  "how  does  she  pro 
pose  to  get  you  there  ?  " 

"Why,"  said  Fleda, — "isn't  it  curious? — she  says  there  is  a 
Mrs.  Carleton  here  who 'is  a  friend  of  hers,  and  she  is  going  to 
Paris  in  a  little  while,  and  aunt  Lucy  asked  her  if  she  wouldn't 
bring  me,  if  you  would  let  me  go,  and  she  said  she  would  with 
great  pleasure,  and  aunt  Lucy  wants  me  to  come  out  with  her." 

'•  Carleton! — Hum — "  said  Mr.  Ringgan;  "that  must  be  this 
young  man's  mother?  " 

"  Yes,  aunt  Lucy  says  she  is  here  with  her  son, — at  least  she  says 
they  were  coming." 

"A  very  gentlemanly  young  man,  indeed,"  -said  Mr.  Ringgan. 

There  was  a  grave  silence.  The  old  gentleman  sat  looking  on 
the  floor  ;  Fleda  sat  looking  into  the  fire,  with  all  her  might. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Ringgan  after  a  little,  "  how  would  you  like  it* 
Fleda?" 

"  What,  grandpa  ?  " 

91  To  go  out  to  Paris  to  your  aunt,  with  this  Mrs.  Carleton  ?  " 

•'I  shouldn't  like  it  at  all,"  said  Fleda  smiling,  and  letting  hei 
;y«s  go  back  to  the  fire.  But  looking  after  the  pause  of  a  minute 
>r  two  again  to  her  grandfather's  face,  she  was  struck  with  its  ex« 
oression  of  stern  anxiety.  She  rose  instantly,  and  coming  to  him 
and  laying  one  hand  gently  on  his  knee,  said  in  tones  that  fell  as 
light  on  the  ear  as  the  touch  of  a  moonbeam  on  the  water,  "  You 
do  iiot  want  me  to  go,  do  you,  grandpa  ?  " 

'•No  dear!"  said  the  old  gentleman,  letting  his  hand  fall  upon 
hers, — "  no  dear ! — that  is  the  last  thing  I  want !  " 

But  Fleda' s  keen  ear  discerned  not  only  the  deep  affection  but 
something  of  regret  in  the  voice,  which  troubled  her.  She  stood, 
anxious  and  fearing,  while  her  grandfather  lifting  his  hand  again 
and  again  let  it  fall  gently  upon  hers;  and  amid  all  the  fond 
ness  of  the  action  Fleda  somehow  seemed  to  feel  in  it  the  same 
regret. 

•*  You'll  not  let  aunt  Lucy,   nor  anybody  else,  take  me  awaj 


QUEECHT.  19 

from  you,  will  you,  grandpa?"  said  she  after  a  little,  leaning  both 
arms  affectionately  on  his  knee  and  looking  up  into  his  face. 

"No  indeed,  dear!"  said  he,  with  an  attempt  at  his  usual 
heartiness, —  "  not  as  long  as  I  have  a  place  to  keep  you.  While  I 
have  a  roof  to  put  my  head  under,  it  shall  cover  yours." 

To  Fleda's  hope  that  would  have  said  enough  ;  but  her  grand 
father's  face  was  so  moved  from  its  wonted  expression  of  calm 
dignity  that  it  was  plain  his  hope  was  tasting  bitter  things.  Fleda 
watched  in  silent  grief  and  amazement  the  watering  eye  and  un« 
nerved  lip  ;  till  her  grandfather  indignantly  dashing  away  a  teai 
or  two  drew  her  close  to  his  breast  and  kissed  her.  But  she  well 
guessed  that  the  reason  why  he  did  not  for  a  minute  or  two  say 
anything,  was  because  he  could  not.  Neither  could  she.  She 
was  fighting  with  her  woman's  nature  to  keep  it  down, — learning 
the  lesson  early ! 

"Ah  well," — said  Mr.  Ringgan  at  length,  in  a  kind  of  tone  that 
might  indicate  the  giving  up  a  struggle  which  he  had  no  means 
of  carrying  on,  or  the  endeavor  to  coRceal  it  from  the  too  keen- 
wrought  feelings  of  his  little  granddaughter, — "  there  will  be  a  way 
opened  for  us  somehow.  We  must  let  our  Heavenly  Father  take 
care  of  us." 

"  And  he  will,  grandpa,"  whispered  Fleda, 

"  Yes  dear! — We  are  selfish  creatures.  Your  father's  and  your 
mother's  child  will  not  be  forgotten." 

"  Nor  you  either,  dear  grandpa,"  said  the  little  girl,  laying  her 
soft  cheek  alongside  of  his,  and  speaking  by  dint  of  a  great  effort. 

"  No,"  said  he,  clasping  her  more  tenderly, — "  no — it  would  be 
wicked  in  me  to  doubt  it.  He  has  blessed  me  all  my  life  long  with 
a  great  many  more  blessings  than  I  deserved  ;  and  if  he  chooses  to 
take  away  the  sunshine  of  my  last  days  I  will  bow  my  head  to  his 
will,  and  believe  that  he  does  all  things  well,  though  I  cannot  see 
it." 

"  Don't,  dear  grandpa,"  said  Fleda,  stealing  her  other  arm 
around  his  neck  and  hiding  her  face  there, — "please  don't ! — ' 

He  very  much  regretted  that  he  had  said  too  much.  He  did  not 
however  know  exactly  how  to  mend  it.  He  kissed  her  and  stroked 
her  soft  hair,  but  that  and  the  manner  of  it  only  made  it  more  diffi^ 
cult  for  Fleda  to  recover  herself,  which  she  vyas  struggling  to  do  ; 
and  when  he  tried  to  speak  in  accents  of  cheering  his  voice  trembled. 
Fleda's  heart  was  breaking,  but  she  felt  that  she  was  making  mat 
ters  worse,  and  she  had  already  concluded  on  a  mature  review  of 
circumstances  that  it  was  her  duty  to  be  cheerful.  So  after  a  few 
vsry  heartfelt  tears  which  she  could  not  help,  she  raised  her  head 
and  smiled,  even  while  she  wiped  the  traces  of  them  away. 

"After  all,  grandpa,"  said  she,  "perhaps  Mr.  Jolly  will  come 
here  in  the  morning  with  some  good  news,  and  then  we  should  be 
troubling  ourselves  just  for  nothing." 

"Perhaps  he  will,"  said  Mr.  Ringgan,  in  a  way  that  sounded 
much  more  like  "  Perhaps  he  won't !  "  But  Fleda  was  determined 
now  not  to  seem  discouraged  again.  She  thought  the  best  way  was 
to  change  the  conversation. 

"It  is  very  kind  in  aunt  Lucy*  isn't  it,  grandpa,  what  she  has 
written  to  me?" 


"  Why  no,*"  said  Mr.  Ringgan,  decidedly,  ••  f  can't  say  I  think 
it  is  any  very  extraordinary  manifestation  of  kindness  in  anybody  to 
want  you." 

Fleda  smiled  her  thanks  for  this  compliment. 

"'  It  might  be  a  kindness  in  me  to  give  you  to  her." 

'•  It  wouldn't  be  a  kindness  to  me,  grandpa*' 

••  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  he  gravely.  They  were  getting 
back  to  the  old  subject.  Fleda  made  another  great  effort  at  a 
iiversion. 

"  Grandpa,  was  my  father  like  my  uncle  Rossitui  in  any  thing?  *' 

The  diversion  was  effected. 

ts  Not  he,  dear !  "  said  Mr.  Ringgan.  "  You  father  had  ten  time* 
ihe  man  in  him  that  ever  your  uncle  was." 

•*  Why  what  kind  of  a  man  is  uncle  Rossitur,  grandpa  ?  ** 

"  Ho  dear  !  I  can't  tell.  I  ha'n't  seen  much  of  him.  I  wouldn't 
•judge  a  man  without  knowing  more  of  him  than  I  do  of  Mr,  Rossitur. 
He  seemed  an  amiable  kind  of  man.  But  no  one  would  ever  have 
thought  of  looking  at  him,  no  more  than  at  a  shadow,  wtosn  your 
father  was  by." 

The  diversion  took  effect  on  Fleda  herself  now.  She  looked  up 
pleased. 

"  You  remember  your  father,  Fleda  ?  *  * 

"  Yes  grandpa,  but  not  very  well  always  ; — I  remember  a  great 
many  things  about  him,  but  I  can't  remember  exactly  how  he 
looked, — except  once  or  twice." 

"  Ay,  and  he  wa'n't  well  the  last  time  you  remember  him.  But 
he  was  a  noble-looking  man — in  form  and  face  too — and  his  looks 
were  the  worst  part  of  him.  He  seemed  made  of  different  stuff  from 
all  the  people  around,"  said  Mr.  Ringgan  sighing,  ••  and  they  felt 
it  too  I  used  to  notice,  without  knowing  it.  When  his  cousins  were 
*Sam*  and  'Johnny*  and  'Bill,'  he  was  always,  that  is,  after  he 
grew  up,  •  Mr.  Walter."  I  believe  they  were  a  little  afeard  of  him. 
And  with  all  his  bravery  and  fire  he  could  be  as  gentle  as  a  woman." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Fleda,  whose  eyes  were  dropping  soft  tears 
and  glittering  at  the  same  time  with  gratified  feeling.  "  What  made 
him  be  a  soldier,  grandpa  ?  " 

"  Oh  I  don't  know,  dear  ! — he  was  too  good  to  make  a  farmer  of 
—or  his  high  spirit  wanted  to  rise  in  the  world — he  couldn't  rest 
without  trying  to  be  something  more  than  other  folks,  I  don't  know 
vhether  people  are  any  happier  for  it." 

«•  Did  he  go  to  West  Point,  grandpa?  " 

••  No  dear  ! — he  started  without  having  so  much  of  a  push  as  that ; 
but  he  was  one  of  those  that  don't  need  any  pushing  ;  he  would 
have  worked  his  way  up,  put  him  anywhere  you  would,  and  he  did, 
—over  the  heads  of  West  Pointers  and  all,  and  would  have  gone  to 
the  top,  I  verily  believe,  if  he  had  lived  long  enough.  He  was  as 
fine  a  fellow  as  there  was  in -all  the  army,  /don't  believe  there'? 
the  like  of  him  left  in  it." 

"  He  had  been  a  major  a  good  while,  hadn't  he,  grandpa  ?  " 

"  Yes.  It  was  just  after  he  was  made  captain  that  he  went  to 
Albany,  and  there  he  saw  your  mother.  She  and  her  sister,  you* 
aunt  Lucy,  were  wards  of  the  patroon.  I  was  in  Albany,  in  the 
legislature,  that  winter,  and  I  knew  the-m  both  very  well ;  but  you* 


QUEECBT.  «* 

aunt  Lucy  had  oeen  married  some  years  befoie.    stie  was  staying 
there  that  winter  without  her  husband — he  was  abroad  somewhere." 

Fleda  was  no  stranger  to  these  details  and  had  learned  long  ago 
what  was  meant  by  '  wards '  and  '  the  patroon.1 

"Your  father  was  made  a  major  some  years  afterward,"  Mr, 
Ringgan  went  on,  '•  for  his  fine  behavior  out  here  at  the  West — > 
what's  the  name  of  the  place? — I  forget  it  just  now — fighting  the 
Indians.  There  never  was  anything  finer  done." 

8)  He  was  brave,  wasn't  he,  grandpa?  " 

"  Brave  ! — he  had  a  heart  of  iron  sometimes,  for  as  soft  ai  it  waf 
U  others.  And  he  had  an  eye,  when  he  was  roused,  that  I  nev«s 
jaw  anything  that  would  stand  against.  But  your  father  had  a  bet 
ter  sort  of  courage  than  the  common  sort — he  had  enough  of  that— 
but  this  is  a  rarer  thing — he  never  was  afraid  to  do  what  in  his  con 
science  hi  thought  was  right.  Moral  courage  I  call  it,  and  it  is  one 
of  the  very  noblest  qualities  a  man  can  have." 

"That's  a  kind  of  courage  a  woman  may  have,"  said  Fleda. 

««  Yes — you  may  have  that  ;  and  I  guess  it's  the  only  kind  of 
courage  yjft\\  ever  be  troubled  with,"  said  her  grandfather  looking 
laughingly  at  her.  "  However,  any  man  may  walk  up  to  the  can 
non's  mouth,  but  it  is  only  one  here  and  there  that  will  walk  out 
against  men's  opinions  because  he  thinks  it  is  right.  That  was  one 
of  the  things  I  admired  most  in  your  father." 

"  Didn't  my  mother  have  it  too  ?  "  said  Fieda* 

"  I  don't  know — she  had  about  everything  that  was  good.  A 
sweet,  pretty  creature  she  was,  as  ever  I  saw." 

"  Was  she  like  aunt  Lucy  ?  " 

"  No.  not  much.  §he  was  a  deal  handsomer  than  your  aunt  is  01 
ever  could  have  been.  She  was  the  handsomest  woman,  I  think, 
that  ever  I  set  eyes  upon:  and  a  sweet,  gentle,  lovely  creature. 
You\\  never  match  her,"  said  Mr.  Ringgan,  with  a  curious  twist  o{ 
his  head  and  sly  laughing  twist  of  his  eyes  at  Fleda; — "  you  may 
be  &$ good  •&$  she  was,  but  you'll  never  be  as  good-looking." 

Fleda,  laughed,  nowise  displeased. 

"  You've  got  her  hazel  eyes  though,"  remarked  Mr.  Ringgan, 
after  a  minute  or  two,  viewing  his  little  granddaughter  with  a  suffi 
ciently  satisfied  expression  of  countenance. 

"  Grandpa,"  said  she,  "  don't  you  think  Mr.  Carleton  has  hand« 
jome  eyes?" 

"  Mr.  Carleton? — hum— I  don't  know  ;  I  didn't  look  at  his  eyes 
A.  very  well-looking  young  man  though — very  gentlemanly  too." 

Fleda  had  heard  all  this  and  much  more  about  her  parents  some 
dozens  of  times  before  ;  but  she  and  her  grandfather  were  never 
tired  of  going  it  over.  If  the  conversation  that  recalled  his  lost 
treasures  had  of  necessity  a  character  of  sadness  and  tenderness,  it 
yet  bespoke  not  More  regret  that  he  had  lost  them  than  exulting 
pride  and  delight  in  what  they  had  been, — perhaps  not  so  much. 
And  Fleda  delighted  to  go  back  and  feel  her  imagination  with  stories 
of  the  mother  whom  she  could  not  remember,  and  of  the  father 
whose  fair  bright  image  stood  in  her  memory  as  the  embodiment  of 
all  that  is  high  and  noble  and  pure.  A  kind  of  guardian  angel  that 
image  was  to  littte  Fleda.  These  ideal  likenesses  of  her  father  and 
mother,  the  on«  drawn  from  historv  and  recollection,  the  other 


t2  QUEECHX. 

from  history  only,  had  been  her  preservative  from  all  the  untoward 

influences  and  unfortunate  examples  which  had  surrounded  het 
since  her  father's  death  some  three  or  four  years  before  had  left  her 
almost  alone  in  her  grandfather's  house.  They  had  created  in  her 
mind  a  standard  of  the  true  and  beautiful  in  character,  which 
nothing  she  saw  around  her,  after  of  course  her  grandfather,  and 
one  other  exception,  seemed  at  all  to  meet ;  and  partly  from  her 
own  innate  fineness  of  nature,  and  partly  from  this  pure  ideal 
always  present  with  her,  she  had  shrunk  almost  instinctively  from 
the  few  varieties  of  human  nature  the  country-side  presented  to  her 
and  was  in  fact  a  very  isolated  little  being,  living  in  a  world  of  hei 
own,  and  clinging  with  all  her  strong  out-goings  of  affection  to  her 
grandfather  only  ;  granting  to  but  one  other  person  any  considera 
ble  share  in  her  regard  or  esteem.  Little  Fleda  was  not  in  the  least 
misanthropical ;  she  gave  her  kindly  sympathies  to  all  who  came 
in  her  way  on  whom  they  could  possibly  be  bestowed  ;  but  these 
people  were  nothing  to  her;  her  spirit  fell  off  from  them,  even  in 
their  presence  ;  there  was  no  affinity.  She  was  in  truth  what  her 
grandfather  had  affirmed  of  her  father,  made  of  different  stuff  from 
the  rest  of  the  world.  There  was  no  tincture  of  pride  in  all  this  ; 
there  was  no  conscious  feeling  of  superiority  ;  she  could  merely 
have  told  you  that  she  did  not  care  to  hear  these  people  talk,  that 
she  did  not  love  to  be  with  them  ;  though  she  would 'have  said  so  to 
no  earthly  creature  but  her  grandfather,  if  even  to  him. 

"  It  must  be  pleasant,"  said  Fleda,  after  looking  for  some  min 
utes  thoughtfully  into  the  fire, — "  it  must  be  a  pleasant  thing  to  have 
A  father  and  mother." 

"  Yes  dear  !  "  said  her  grandfather,  sighing — "  you  have  lost  a 
great  deal !  But  there  is  your  aunt  Lucy— you  are  not  dependent 
altogether  on  me." 

"Oh  grandpa,'  "  said  the  little  girl  laying  one  hand  again  plead 
ingly  on  his  knee  ; — "  I  didn't  mean — I  mean — I  was  speaking  in 
general — I  wasn't  thinking  of  myself  in  particular." 

"  I  know,  dear!  "  said  he,  as  before  taking  the  little  hand  in 
his  own  and  moving  it  softly  up  and  down  on  his  knee.  But  the 
action  was  sad,  and  there  was  the  same  look  of  sorrowful  stern 
anxiety.  F]eda  got  up  and  put  her  arm  over  his  shoulder,  speak 
ing  from  a  heart  filled  too  full. 

11 1  don't  want  aunt  Lucy — I  don't  care  about  aunt  Lucy  ;  I  don't 
•ant  anything  but  you,  grandpa.  I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  so." 

"  Ah  well,  dear,"  said  he,  without  looking  at  her, — he  couldn  t 
bear  to  look  at  her,—"  it's  well  it  is  so.  I  sha'n't  last  a  great  while 
—it  isn't  likely— and  I  am  glad  to  know  there  is  some  one  you  can 
fall  back  upon  when  I  am  gone." 

Fleda's  next  words  were  scarce  audible,  but  they  contained  a  re 
proach  to  him  for  speaking  so. 

"  We  may  as  well  look  at  it,  clear,"  said  he  gravely;  "  it  must 
come  to  that — sooner  or  later — but  you  mustn't  distress  yourself 
about  it  beforehand.  Don't  cry— don't  dear!"  said  he,  tenderly 
kissing  her.  "  I  didn't  ITU' an  to  tiv. nble  you  so,  The^e —there — 
look  up,  dear — let's  lake  liie  good  we  have  and  he  thankful  for  it. 
God  will  arrange  the  rest,  in  his  own  good  way.  Fleda ! — I  wouldn't 
have  said  a  word  if  I  had  thought  it  would  have  worried  vou  so." 


QUEECHY.  «3 

He  would  not  indeed.  But  he  had  spoken  as  men  so  often 
speak,  out  of  the  depths  of  their  own  passion  or  bitterness,  forget 
ting  that  they  are  wringing  the  cords  of  a  delicate  harp,  and  not 
knowing  what  mischief  they  have  done  till  they  find  the  instrument 
all  out  of  tune, — more  often  not  knowing  it  ever.  It  is  pity, — for 
how  frequently  a  discord  is  left  that  jars  all  life  long  ;  and  how 
much  more  frequently  still  the  harp,  though  retaining  its  sweetness 
and  truth  of  tone  to  the  end,  is  gradually  unstrung. 

Poor  Fleda  could  hardly  hold  up  her  head  for  a  long  timet  and 
recalling  bitterly  her  unlucky  innocent  remark  which  had  led  to  ali 
this  trouble  she  almost  made  up  her  mind  with  a  certain  heroine  of 
Miss  Edge  worth's,  that  "it  is  best  never  to  mention  things."  Mr. 
Ringgan,  now  thoroughly  alive  to  the  wounds  he  had  been  inflict 
ing,  held  his  little  pet  in  his  arms,  pillowed  her  head  on  his  breasts 
jnd  by  every  tender  and  soothing  action  and  word  endeavored  to 
undo  what  he  had  done.  And  after  a  while  the  agony  was  over,  the 
wet  eyelashes  were  lifted  up,  and  the  meek  sorrowful  little  face  lay 
quietly  upon  Mr.  Ringgan's  breast,  gazing  out  into  the  fire  as 
gravely  as  if  the  Panorama  of  life  were  there.  She  little  heeded  at 
first  her  grandfather's  cheering  talk,  she  knew  it  was  for  a  purpose. 

"  Ain't  it  most  time  for  you  to  go  to  bed  ?  "  whispered  Mr.  Ring- 
gan  when  he  thought  the  purpose  was  effected. 

"  Shall  I  tell  Cynthy  to  get  you  your  milk,  grandpa?"  said  the 
little  girl  rousing  herself. 

••  Yes  dear. — Stop, — what  if  you  and  me  was  to  have  some  roast 
apples? — wouldn't  you  like  it  ?  " 

•  •Well — yes,  I  should,  grandpa,"  said  Fleda,  understanding  per 
fectly  why  he  wished  it,  and  wishing  it  herself  for  that  same  reason 
and  no  other. 

"  Cynthy,  let's  have  some  of  those  roast  apples,"  said  Mr.  Ring- 
gan,  "  and  a  couple  of  bowls  of  milk  here." 

"  No,  I'll  get  the  apples  myself,  Cynthy,"  said  Fleda. 

41  And  you  needn't  take  any  of  the  cream  off,  Cynthy,"  added 
Mr.  Ringgan. 

One  corner  of  the  kitchen  table  was  hauled  up  to  the  fire,  to  be 
comfortable,  Fleda  said,  and  she  and  her  grandfather  sat  down  on 
the  opposite  sides  of  it  to  do  honor  to  the  apples  and  milk  ;  each 
with  the  simple  intent  of  keeping  up  appearances  and  cheating  the 
}ther  into  cheerfulness.  There  is  however,  deny  it  who  can,  an  ex 
hilarating  effect  in  good  wholesome  food  taken  when  one  is  in  some 
iieed  of  it ;  and  Fleda  at  least  found  the  supper  relish  exceeding 
well.  Every  one  furthermore  knows  the  relief  of  a  hearty  flow  of 
tears  when  a  secret  weight  has  been  pressing  on  the  mind.  Shf 
was  just  ready  for  anything  reviving.  After  the  third  mouthful  she- 
began  to  talk,  and  before  the  bottom  of  the  bowls  was  reached  she 
had  smiled  more  than  once.  So  her  grandfather  thought  no  harm 
was  done,  and  went  to  bed  quite  comforted  ;  and  Fleda  climbed  the 
steep  stairs  that  led  from  his  door  to  her  little  chamber  just  over  his 
head.  It  was  small  and  mean,  immediately  under  the  roof,  with 
only  one  window.  There  were  plenty  of  better  rooms  in  the  house, 
but  Fleda  liked  this  because  it  kept  her  near  her  grandfather  ;  and 
indeed  she  had  always  had  it  ever  since  her  father's  deatn,  and 
never  thought  of  taking  any  other. 


24  'QUEECHY. 

.  She  had  a  fashion,  this  child,  in  whom  the  simplicity  of  practical 
life  a/id  the  poetry  of  imaginative  life  were  curiously  blended, — she 
had  a  fashion  of  going  to  her  window  every  night  when  the  moon  or 
stars  were  shining  to  look  out  for  a  minute  or  two  before  she  went 
to  bed  ;  and  sometimes  the  minutes  were  more  than  any  good 
grandmother  or  aunt  would  have  considered  wholesome  ror  little 
Fleda  in  the  fresh  night  air.  But  there  was  no  one  to  watch  or  rep 
rimand  ;  and  whatever  it  was  that  Fleda  read  in  earth  or  sky,  the 
charm  which  held  her  one  bright  niglr<  was  sure  to  bring  her  cc 
her  window  the  next.  This  evening  9,  faint  young  moon  lightec 
up  but  dimly  the  meadow  and  what  was  called  the  "  east-hill/' 
over-against  which  the  window  in  question  looked.  The  air  was 
calm  and  rnild  ;  there  was  no  frost  to-night ;  the  stillness  was  en 
tire,  and  the  stars  shone  in  a  cloudless  sky.  Fleda  set  open  the 
window  and  looked  out  with  a  face  that  again  bore  tokens  of  the 
experiences  of  that  day.  She  wanted  the  soothing  speech  of  na 
ture's  voice ;  and  child  as  she  was  she  could  hear  it.  She  did  not 
know,  in  her  simplicity,  what  it  was  that  comforted  and  soothed  her, 
but  she  stood  at  her  window  enjoying. 

It  was  so  perfectly  still,  her  fancy  presently  went  to  all  those  peo 
ple  who  had  hushed  their  various  work  and  were  now  resting,  or 
soon  would  be,  in  the  unconsciousness  and  the  helplessness  of 
sleep.  The  helplessness, — and  then  that  Eye  that  never  sleeps  ; 
that  Hand  that  keeps  them  all,  that  is  never  idle,  that  is  the  safety 
and  the  strength  alike  of  all  the  earth  and  of  them  that  wake  or 
sleep  upon  it, — 

"  And  if  he  takes  care  of  them  all,  will  he  not  take  care  of  poor 
little  me  ?  "  thought  Fleda.  "  Oh  how  glad  I  am  I  know  there  is  a 
God  ! — How  glad  I  am  I  know  he  is  such  a  God  !  and  that  I  can 
trust  in  him  ;  and  he  will  make  everything  go  right.  How  I  forget 
this  sometimes !  But  Jesus  does  not  forget  his  children.  Oh  I  am 
a  happy  little  girl ! — Grandpa's  saying  what  he  did  don't  make  it  so 
— perhaps  I  shall  die  the  first — but  I  hope  not,  for  what  would  be 
come  of  him  ! — But  this  and  everything  will  all  be  arranged  right- 
and  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it  but  to  obey  God  and  please  him, 
and  he  will  take  care  of  the  rest.  He  has  forbidden  us  to  be  care 
ful  about  it  too." 

With  grateful  tears  of  relief  Fleda  shut  the  window  and  began  to 
undress  herself,  her  heart  so  lightened  of  its  burden  that  her  thought? 
presently  took  leave  to  go  out  again  upon  pleasure  excursions  ir. 
various  directions ;  and  one  of  the  last  things  in  Fleda's  mind  be 
fore  sleep  surprised  her  was,  what  a  nice  thing  it  was  for  any  one 
to  bow  and  smile  so  as  Mr.  Carleton  did ! 

CHAPTER  III. 

I  know  each  lane^and  every  alley  gre«a, 
Dingle  or  bushy  dell  of. this  wild  wood, 
And  every  bosky  bourn  from  side  to  side; 
My  daily  walks  and  ancient  neighborhood. 

MILTON. 

FLEDA  and  her  grandfather  had  but  just  risen  from  a  tolerably 
feariy  breakfast  the  next  irorning,  when  the  two  young  sportsmen 
entered  the 


QUEECffT.  25 

••Hat  "  said  Mr.  Riiiggan,— "  I  declare!  you  re  stirring  betimes. 
Come  five  or  six  miles  this  morning  a'ready.  Well — that's  the  stuff 
to  make  sportsmen  of.  Off  for  the  woodcock,  hey  ?— And  I  was  to 
go  with  you  and  show  you  the  ground. — I  declare  I  don't  know 
how  in  the  world  I  can  do  it  this  morning,  I'm  so  very  stiff — ten 
times  as  bad  as  I  was  yesterday.  I  had  a  window  open  in  my  room 
last  night,  I  expect  that  must  have  been  the  cause.  I  don't  see  how 
I  could  have  overlooked  it,  but  I  never  gave  it  a  thought,  till  this 
morning  I  found  myself  so  lame  I  could  hardly  get  out  of  bed. — I 
un  very  sorry,  upon  my  word !  " 

"I  am  very  sorry  we  must  lose  your  company,  sir,"  said  the 
/oung  Englishman,  "  and  for  such  a  cause  ;  but  as  to  the  rest ! — I 
dare  say  your  directions  will  guide  us  sufficiently." 

."  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "  It  is 
pretty  hard  to  steer  by  a  chart  that  is  only  laid  down  in  the  imagi 
nation.  I  set  out  once  to  go  in  New  York  from  one  side  of  the  city 
over  into  the  other,  and  the  first  thing  I  knew  I  found  myself  travel 
ing  along  half  a  mile  out  of  town.  I  had  to  get  in  a  stage  and  ride 
back  and  take  a  fresh  start.  Out  at  the  West  they  say  when  you 
are  in  the  woods  you  can  tell  which  is  north  by  the  moss  growing 
on  that  side  of  the  trees  ;  but  if  you're  lost  you'll  be  pretty  apt  to 
fin'd  the  moss  grows  on  all  sides  of  the  trees.  I  couldn't  make  out 
any  waymarks  at  all,  in  such  a  labyrinth  of  brick  corners.  Well, 
let  us  see — if  I  tell  you  now  it  is  so  easy  to  mistake  one  hill  for  an 
other — Fleda,  child,  you  put  on  your  sun-bonnet  and  take  these 
gentlemen  back  to  the  twentyacre  lot,  and  from  there  you  can  tell 
'em  how  to  go  so  I  guess  they  won't  mistake  it." 

"  By  no  means  !  "  said  Mr.  Carleton  ;  "  we  cannot  give  her  so 
much  trouble  ;  it  would  be  buying  our  pleasure  at  much  too  dear  a 
rate." 

s'Tut,  tut,"  said  the  old  gentleman  ;"  she  thinks  nothing  of 
trouble,  and  the  walk'll  do  her  good.  She'd  like  to  be  out  aR  day, 
I  believe,  if  she  had  any  one  to  go  along  with,  but  I'm  rather  a 
stupid  companion  for  such  a  spry  little  pair  of  feet.  Fleda,  look 
here, — when  they  get  to  the  lot  they  can  find  their  own  way  after 
that  You  know  where  the  place  is — where  your  cousin  Seth  shot 
50  many  woodcock  last  year,  over  in  Mr.  Hurlbut's  land, — when 
7ou  get  to  the  big  lot  you  must  tell  these  gentlemen  to  go  straight 
jver  the  hill,  not  Squire  Thornton's  hill,  but  mine,  at  the  back  of 
•Jtie  lot, — they  must  go  straight  over  it  till  they  come  to  cleared  land 
in  the  other  side  ;  then  they  must  keep  along  by  the  edge  of  the 
jvood,  to  the  right,  till  they  come  to  the  brook  ;  they  must  cross  the 
brook,  and  follow  up  the  opposite  bank,  and  they'll  know  the  ground 
when  they  come  to  it,  or  they  don't  deserve  to.  Do  you  under 
stand? — now  run  and  get  your  hat  for  they  ought  to  be  off." 

Fleda  went,  but  neither  her  step  nor  her  look  showed  any  great 
willingness  to  the  business. 

"I  am  sure,  Mr.  Ringgan,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  "your  little 
granddaughter  has  some  reason  for  not  wishing  to  take  such  a  long 
walk  this  morning.  Pray  allow  us  to  go  without  her." 

said  the  old  gentleman,  "  she  wants  to  go." 

"  I  guess  she's  skeered  o"  the  guns,"  said  Cynthy,  happy  to  get  a 
chance  to  edge  in  a  word  before  such  company  ;—"  it's  that  ails  her." 


"Well,  -well,— she  must  get  used  to  it,"  said  Mr.  Ringgaf* 
••  Here  she  is  !  " 

Fleda  had  it  in  her  mind  to  whisper  to  him  a  word  of  hope  aboal 
Mr.  Jolly  ;  but  she  recollected  that  it  was  at  best  an  uncertain  hope, 
and  that  if  her  grandfather's  thoughts  were  off  the  subject  if  vas 
better  to  leave  them  so.  She  only  kissed  him  for  good-by,  and 
went  out  with  the  two  gentlemen. 

As  they  took  up  their  guns  Mr.  Carleton  caught  the  timid  sham* 
ning  glance  her  eye  gave  at  them. 

"  Do  you  dislike  the  company  of  these  noisy  friends  of  ours,  Miss 
Fleda  ?  "  said  he. 

Fleda  hesitated,  and  finally  said  "she  didn't  much  like  to  be  very 
Bear  them  when  they  were  fired." 

"Put  that  fear  away  then,"  said  he,  "for  they  shall  keep  a 
respectful  silence  so  long  as  they  have  the  honor  to  be  in  your  com 
pany.  If  the  woodcock  come  about  us  as  tame  as  quails  our  guns 
shall  wot  be  provoked  to  say  anything  till  your  departure  gives  them 
leave." 

Fleda  smiled  her  thanks  and  set  forward,  privately  much  con 
firmed  in  her  opinion  that  Mr.  Carleton  had  handsome  eyes. 

At  a  little  distance  from  the  house  Fleda  left  the  meadow  for  an 
old  apple-orchard  at  the  left,  lying  on  a  steep  side  hill.  Up  this  hill 
side  they  toiled ;  and  then  found  themselves  on  a  ridge  of  table 
land,  stretching  back  for  some  distance  along  the  edge  of  a  little 
valley  or  bottom  of  perfectly  flat  smooth  pasture-ground.  The  valley 
was  very  narrow,  only  divided  into  fields  by  fences  running  from 
side  to  side.  The  table-land  might  be  a  hundred  feet  or  more  above 
the  level  of  the  bottom,  with  a  steep  face  toward  it.  A  little  way 
back  from  the  edge  the  woods  began  ;  between  them  and  the  brow 
of  the  hill  the  ground  was  smooth  and  green,  planted  as  if  by  art 
with  flourishing  young  silver  pines  and  once  in  a  while  a  hemlock,, 
some  standing  in  all  their  luxuriance  alone,  and  some  in  groups. 
With  now  and  then  a  smooth  grey  rock,  or  large  boulder-stone 
which  had  somehow  inexplicably  stopped  on  the  brow  of  the  hill 
instead  of  rolling  down  into  what  at  some  former  time  no  doubt  was 
a  bed  of  water, — all  this  open  strip  of  table-land  might  have  stood 
with  very  little  coaxing  for  a  piece  of  a  gentleman's  pleasure- 
ground.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  little  valley  was  a  low  rocky 
Height,  covered  with  wood,  now  in  the  splendor  of  varied  red  and 
ffreen  and  purple  and  brown  and  gold  ;  between,  at  their  feet, 
lay  the  soft  quiet  green  meadow  ;  and  off  to  the  left,  beyond  the  far 
end  of  the  valley,  was  the  glory  of  the  autumn  woods  again,  soft 
ened  in  the  distance.  A  true  October  sky  seemed  to  pervade  all, 
mildly  blue,  transparently  pure,  with  that  clearness  of  atmosphere 
that  no  other  month  gives  us  ;  a  sky  that  would  have  conferred  a 
patent  of  nobility  on  any  landscape.  The  scene  was  certainly  con 
tracted  and  nowise  remarkable  in  any  of  its  features,  but  Nature 
had  shaken  out  all  her  colors  over  the  land,  and  drawn  a  veil  from 
the  sky,  and  breathed  through  the  woods  and  over  the  hill-side  the 
very  breath  of  health,  enjoyment,  and  vigor. 

When  they  were  about  over-against  the  middle  of  the  Valley,  Mr. 
suddenly  made  a  pause  and  stood  for  some  minutes  silently 


QUEECHT.  V9 

looking.  His  two  companions  came  to  a  halt  on  either  side  of  him, 
one  not  a  little  pleased,  the  other  a  little  impatient. 

"  Beautiful !      Mr.  Carleton  said  at  length. 

"  Yes,"  said  Fleda  gravely,  "  I  think  it's  a  pretty  place.  1  like 
It  up  here." 

"We  sha'n't  catch  many  woodcock  among  these  pines,"  said 
young  Rossitur. 

"  1  wonder,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  presently,  "  how  any  one  should 
have  called  these  'melancholy  days/  " 

"  Who  has  ?  "  said  Rossitur. 

"  A  countryman  of  yours,"  said  his  friend  glancing  at  hirm  "  If 
ae  had  been  a  countryman  of  mine  there  would  have  been  less 
marvel.  But  here  is  none  of  the  sadness  of  decay — none  of  the 
withering — if  the  tokens  of  old  age  are  seen  at  all  it  is  in  the  majestic 
honors  that  crown  a  glorious  life — the  graces  of  a  matured  and 
ripened  character.  This  has  nothing  in  common,  Rossitur,  with 
those  dull  moralists  who  are  always  dinning  decay  and  death  into 
one's  ears  ; — this  speaks  of  Life.  Instead  of  freezing  all  one's  hopes 
and  energies,  it  quickens  the  pulse  with  the  desire  to  do. — '  The  sad 
dest  of  the  year  ' — Bryant  was  wrong." 

"  Bryant? — oh  !  " — said  young  Rossitur  ;  "  I  didn't  know  who  you 
were  speaking  of." 

"  I  believe,  now  I  think  of  it,  he  was  writing  of  a  somewhat  later 
time  of  the  year, — I  don't  know  how  all  this  will  look  in  No 
vember." 

"  I  think  it  is  very  pleasant  in  November,"  said  little  Fleda  se 
dately. 

"  Don't  you  know  Bryant's  '  Death  of  the  Flowers,'  Rossitur?" 
said  his  friend  smiling.  "What  have  you  been  doing  all  your 
life?  " 

"Not  studying  the  fine  arts  at  West  Point,  Mr.  Carleton." 

"  Then  sit  down  here,  and  let  me  mend  that  place  in  your  educa 
tion.  Sit  down  !  and  I'll  give  you  something  better  than  woodcockt 
You  keep  a  game-bag  for  thoughts,  don't  you  ?" 

Mr.  Rossitur  wished  Mr.  Carleton  didn't.  But  he  sat  down  how 
ever,  and  listened  with  an  unedified  face  ;  while  his  triend,  more  to 
please  himself  it  must  be  confessed  than  for  any  other  reason,  and 
perhaps  with  half  a  notion  to  try  Fleda,  repeated  the  beautiful 
svords,  He  presently  saw  they  were  not  lost  upon  one  of  his 
hearers  ;  she  listened  intently. 

"  It  is  very  pretty,"  said  Rossitur  when  he  had  done.  IC I  believe 
\  have  seen  it  before  somewhere." 

"There  is  no  '  smoky  light'  to-day,"  said  Fleda. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  smiling  to  himself.  "  Nothing  but 
that  could  improve  the  beauty  of  all  this,  Miss  Fleda." 

"  /  like  it  better  as  it  is,"  said  Fleda. 

"  I  am  surprised  at  that,"  said  young  Rossitur.  "  I  thought  you 
iived  on  smoke." 

There  was  nothing  in  the  words,  but  the  tone  was  not  exactly  po 
lite.  Fleda  granted  him  neither  smile  nor  look. 

"  I  am  glad  you  like  it  up  here,"  she  went  on,  gravely  doing  the 
honors  of  the  place.  "  I  came  this  way  because  we  shouldn't  have 
•0  many  fences  to  climb." 


6  \QUEECHY. 

••  You  are  tiie  best  little  guide  possible,  and  1  have  no  doubf 

v.ould  always  lead  one  the  right  way,"  said  Mr.  Carleton. 

Again  the  same  gentle,  kind,  appreciating  look.  Fleda  uncon 
sciously  drew  a  step  rearer.  There  was  a  certain  undefined  confi« 
Jence  established  between  them. 

"  There's  a  little  brook  down  there  in  spring,"  said  she,  pointing 
to  t  small  grass-grown  water-course  in  the  meadow,  hardly  discerni 
ble  from  the  height, — "  but  there's  no  water  in  it  now.  It  runsquite 
full  for  a  while  after  the  snow  breaks  up  ;  but  it  dries  away  by  June 
or  July." 

"•  What  are  those  trees  so  beautifully  tinged  with  red  and  orange* 
-down  there  by  the  fence  in  the  meadow." 

"  I  am  not  woodsman  enough  to  inform  you,"  replied  Rossitur. 

"  Those  are  maples,"  said  Fleda,  "  sugar  maples.  The  one  all 
orange  is  a  hickory." 

M  How  do  you  know  ?""  said  Mr.  Carletonfl  turning  to  her.  "  By 
your  wit  as  a  fairy?" 

"  I  know  by  the  color,"  said  Fleda  modestly  ,—•*  and  by  theshape 
5oo.*' 

"  Fairy,"  said  Mr.  Rossh>ir,  "  if  you  have  any  of  the  stuff  about 
you,  I  wish  you  would  knock  this  gentleman  over  the  head  with 
your  wand  and  put  the  spirit  of  moving  into  him.  He  is  going  to  sit 
dreaming  here  all  day." 

"•  Not  at  all,"  said  VHS  friend  springing  up,—-"  I  am  ready  for  you 
—but  I  want  other  game  than  woodcock  just  now  I  confess." 

They  walked  along  in  silence,  and  had  near  reached  the  extremity 
fif  the  table-land,  which  toward  the  end  of  the  valley  descended  into 
ground  of  a  lower  level  covered  with  woods  ;  when  Mr.  Carleton 
who  was  a  little  ahead  was  startled  by  Fleda' s  voice  exclaiming  in 
a  tone  of  distress,  "  Oh  not  the  robins!  " — and  turning  about  per 
ceived  Mr.  Rossitur  standing  still  with  levelled  gun  and  just  in  the 
act  to  shoot.  Fleda  had  stopped  her  ears.  In  the  same  instant  Mr, 
Carleton  had  thrown  up  the  gun,  demanding  of  Rossitur  with  a  singu 
lar  change  of  expression—"  what  he  meant  ?  " 

"  Mean?  "  said  the  young  gentleman,  meeting  with  an  astonished 
face  the  indignant  fire  of  his  companion's  eyes, — "  why  I  mean  not 
':•  meddle  with  other  people's  guns,  Mr-  Carleton,  What  «te 
y$u  mean?" 

««  Nothing  but  to  protect  myself/" 

"  Protect  yourself!  "  said  Rossitur,  heating  as  the  other  cooled,^ 
'•  from  what,  in  the  name  of  wonder  ?  " 

tc  Only  from  having  my  word  blown  away  by  your  fire,"  said 
Carleton,  smiling.  "  Come  Rossitur,  ^ecollect  yourself— remember 
our  compact." 

"  Compact !  one  isn't  bound  to  keep  compacts  with  unearthly 
personages,"  said  Rossitur,  half  sulkily  and  half-angrily  :  "and  be 
sides  I  made  none." 

Mn  Carleton  turned  from  him  very  coolly  and  walked  on. 

They  left  the  table-land  and  the  wood,  entered  the  valley  again, 
and  passed  through  a  large  orchard,  the  last  of  the  succession  of 
fields  which  stretched  along  it..  Beyond  this  orchard  the  ground 
rose  suddenly,  and  on  the  steep  hill-side  there  had  been  a  large 
plantation  of  Indian  corn.  The  corn  was  harvested,  but  th<?  ground 


qUEECHY.  39 

was  still  covered  with  numberless  little  stacks  of  the  cornstalks.    Half 
way  up  the  hill  stood  three  ancient  chestnut  trees  ;  veritable  patri 
arch  of  the  nut  tribe  they  were,  and  respected  and  esteemed  as 
;&rchs  should  be. 

11  There  are  no  'dropping  nuts'  to-day,  either,"  said  Fleda,  te 
whom  the  sight  of  her  forest  friends  in. the  distance  probably  sug- 
gested  the  thought,  for  she  had  not  spoken  for  some  time.  ' '  I  sup. 
/x>se  there  hasn't  been  frost  enough  yet." 

•"Why  you  have  a  good  memory,  Fairy,"  said  Mr  Carletar 
*  Do  you  give  the  nuts  leave  to  fall  of  themselves  ?  " 

"O  sometimes  grandpa  and  I  go  a  nutting,"  said  the  litt.'.e  gH 
getting  lightly  over  the  fence, — "  but  we  haven't  been  this  year," 

"  Then  it  is  a  pleasure  to  come  yet?  " 

11  No,"  said  Fleda  quietly,  "  the  trees  near  the  house  have  been 
stripped  ;  and  the  only  other  nice  place  thf.re  is  for  us  to  go  to,  Mr. 
Didenhover  let  the  Shakers  have  the  nuts.  I  shan't  get  any  this 
year." 

"  Live  in  the  woods  and  not  get  any  nuts  !  that  won't  do,  Fairy. 
Here  are  some  fine  chestnuts  we  are  coming  to— what  should  hinder 
our  reaping  a  good  harvest  from  these  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  there  will  be  any  on  them,"  said  Fleda  ;  "Mr. 
Didenhover  has  been  here  lately  with  the  men  getting  in  the  corn, 
— I  guess  they  have  cleared  the  trees." 

"  Who  is  Mr.  Didejihover  ?  " 

"  He  is  grandpa's  man." 

"  Why  didn't  you  bid  Mr.  Didenhover  let  the  nuts  alone  ?  " 

"  O  he  wouldn't  mind  if  he  was  told,"  said  Fleda.  "  He  does 
everything  just  as  he  has  a  mind  to,  and  nobody  can  hinder  him, 
Yes — they've  cleared  the  trees — I  thought  so." 

"  Don't  you  know  of  any  other  trees  that  are  out  of  this  Mr.  Did- 
enhover's  way  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Fleda, — "I  know  a  place  where  there  used  to  be 
beautiful  hickory  trees,  and  some  chestnuts  too,  I  think  ;  but  it  is  too 
far  off  for  grandpa,  and  I  couldn't  go  there  alone.  This  is  the 
twenty-acre  lot,"  said  she,  looking  though  she  did  not  say  it,  ••  Here 
7  leave  you." 

••  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,tv  said  her  cousin.  "  Now  give  us  our  di 
rections,  Fleda,  and  thank  you  for  your  services.'' 

91  Stop  a  minute,"  said  Mr.  Carleton.  "  What  if  you  and  I  should 
try  to  find  those  same  hickory  trees,  Miss  Fleda  ?  Will  you  take 
3»€  with  you  ? — or  is  it  too  long  a  walk  ?  " 

M  For  me? — oh  no  !  "  said  Fleda  with  a  face  of  awakening  hope  : 
"  but,"  she  added  timidly,  "  you  were  going  a  shooting,  sir?" 

*'  What  on  earth  are  you  thinking  of,  Carleton !  "  said  young  Ros« 
sifur.  "  Let  the  nuts  and  Fleda  alone,  do !  " 

"  By  your  leave,  Mr.  Rossitur,"  said  Carleton.  "  My  murderous 
intents  have  all  left  m«,  Miss  Fleda, — I  suppose  your  wand  has 
been  playing  about  me — and  I  should  like  nothing  better  than  to 
go  with  you  over  the  hills  this  morning.  I  have  been  a  nutting 
many  a  time  in  my  own  woods  at  home,  "and  I  want  to  try  it  fol 
once  in  the  New  World.  Will  you  take  me  ?  " 

"  Oh   thank  you,  sir  !  *'    said    Fleda, — "  but  we   have   passeQ 
r  a.  long   way — we  must  go  back  ever  so  far  the 


80  QUEECHF. 

way  we  came  to  get  to  the  place  where  we  turn  off  to  go  up  the 

mountain." 

"  I  don't  wish  for  a  prettier  way,— if  it  isn't  so  far  as  to  tire 
you,  Fairy  ?  " 

"Oh  it  won't  tire  me  !  "  said  Fleda  overjoyed. 

"  Carleton  !  "  exclaimed  young  Rossitur.  "  Can  you  be  so  ab 
surd  !  Lose  this  splendid  day  for  the  woodcock,  when  we  may  not 
have  another  while  we  are  here  !  " 

"  You  are  not  a  true  sportsman,  Mr.  Rossitur,'*  said  the  other 
coolly,  "or  you  would  know  what  it  is  to  have  some  sympathy 
with  the  sports  of  others.  But  you  will  have  the  day  for  the  wood* 
cock,  and  bring  us  home  a  great  many  I  hope.  Miss  Fleda,  sup* 
pose  we  give  this  impatient  young  gentleman  his  orders  and  de« 
spatch  him." 

"  I  thought  you  were  more  of  a  sportsman,"  said  the  vexed  West 
Pointer, — "  or  your  sympathy  would  be  with  me." 

"  I  tell  you  the  sporting  mania  was  never  stronger  on  me,"  said 
the  other  carelessly.  "  Something  less  than  a  rifle  however  will  do 
to  bring  down  the  game  I  am  after.  We  will  rendezvous  at  the 
little  village  over  yonder,  unless  I  go  home  before  you,  which  I 
think  is  more  probable.  Au  revoir  !  " 

With  careless  gracefulness  he  saluted  his  disconcerted  compan 
ion,  who  moved  off  with  ungraceful  displeasure.  Fleda  and  Mr. 
Carleton  then  began  to  follow  back  the  road  they  had  come,  in  the 
highest  good  humor  both.  Her  sparkling  face  told  him  with  even 
greater  emphasis  than  her  words, 

"  I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you,  sir.'* 

"How  you  go  over  fences!"  said  he, — "like  a  sprite,  as  you 
are." 

"O  I  have  climbed  a  great  many,"  said  Fleda,  accepting  how 
ever,  again  with  that  infallible  instinct,  the  help  which  she  did  not 
need.—"  I  shall  be  so  glad  to  get  some  nuts,  for  I  thought  I  wasn't 
going  to  have  any  this  year  ;  and  it  is  so  pleasant  to  have  them  to 
crack  in  the  long  winter  evenings." 

"You  must  find  them  long  evenings  indeed,  I  should  think." 

«'O  no  we  don't,"  said  Fleda.  "I  didn't  mean  they  were  long 
in  that  way.  Grandpa  cracks  the  nuts,  and  I  pick  them  out,  and 
he  tells  me  stones  ;  and  then  you  know  he  likes  to  go  to  bed  early 
The  evenings  never  seem  long." 

11  Bat  you  are  not  always  cracking  nuts.'* 

"O  no,  to  be  sure  not;  but  there  are  plenty  of  other  pleasant 
things  to  do.  1  dare  say  grandpa  would  have  bought  some  nutse 
but  I  had  a  great  deal  rather  fcave  those  we  get  ourselves,  and  then 
the  fun  of  getting  them,  besides,  is  the  best  part." 

Fleda  was  tramping  over  the  ground  at  a  furious  rate. 

"How  many  do  you  count  upon  securing  to-day?"  said  Mr. 
Carleton  gravely. 

"  I  don't  Know,"  said  Fleda  with  a  business  face, — "  there  are  a 
good  many  trees,  and  fine  large  ones,  and  I  don't  believe  anybody 
has  found  them  out — they  are  so  far  out  of  the  way  ;  there  ought  to 
be  a  good  parcel  of  nuts." 

"  But,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  with  perfect  gravity,  "if  we  should  be 
lucky  enough  to  find  a  supply  for  your  winter's  store,  it  would  be 


qUEECHY.  31 

too  much  for  you  and  me  to  bring  home,  Miss  Fleda,  unless  yot 
have  a  broomstick  in  the  service  of  fairy dom." 

"A  broomstick!  "  said  Fleda. 

««  Yes, — did  you  never  hear  of  the  man  who  had  a  broomstick 
that  would  fetch  pails  of  water  at  his  bidding?  " 

"No,"  said  Fleda  laughing.  "  What  a  convenient  broomstick  ! 
I  wish  we  had  one.  But  I  know  what  I  can  do,  Mr.  Carleton, — if 
there  should  be  too  -many  nuts  for  us  to  bring  home  I  can  take 
Cynthy  afterward  and  get  the  rest  of  them.  Cynthy  and  I  could 
go — grandpa  couldn't,  even  if  he  was  as  well  as  usual,  for  the  treet 
•are  in  a  hollow  away  over  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountain.  It's. 
a  beautiful  place." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  smiling  curiously  to  himself,  "in 
that  case  I  shall  be  even  of  more  use  than  I  had  hoped.  But 
sha'n't  we  want  a  basket,  Miss  Fleda?  " 

"  Yes. indeed,"  said  Fleda, — "a  good  large  one — I  am  going  to 
run  down  to  the  house  for  it  as  soon  as  we  get  to  the  turning-off 
place,  if  you'll  be  so  good  as  to  sit  down  and  wait  for  me,  sir, — I 
won't  be  long  after  it." 

"No,"  said  he  ;  "  I  will  walk  with  you  and  leave  my  gun  in  safe 
quarters.  You  had  better  not  travel  so  fast,  or  I  am  afraid  you  will 
never  reach  the  hickory  trees." 

Fleda  smiled  and  said  there  was  no  danger,  but  she  slackened 
her  pace,  and  they  proceeded  at  a  more  reasonable  rate  till  they 
reached  the  house. 

Mr.  Carleton  would  not  go  in,  placing  his  gun  in  an  outer  shelter. 
Fleda  dashed  into  the  kitchen,  and  after  a  few  minutes'  delay  came 
out  again  with  a  huge  basket,  which  Mr.  Carleton  took  fr«m  her 
without  suffering  his  inward  ^amusement  to  reach  his  face,  and  a 
little  tin  pail  which  she  kept  under  her  own  guardianship.  In  vain 
Mr.  Carleton  offered  to  take  it  with  the  basket  or  even  to  put  it  in 
the  basket,  where  he  showed  her  it  would  go  very  well ;  it  must  go 
nowhere  but  in  Fleda' s  own  hand. 

Fleda  was  in  restless  haste  till  they  had  passed  over  the  already 
twice-trodden  ground  and  entered  upon  the  mountain  road.  It  was 
hardly  a  road  ;  in  some  places  a  beaten  track  was  visible,  in  others 
Mr.  Carleton  wondered  how  his  little  companion  found  her  way. 
where  nothing  but  fresh-fallen  leaves  and  scattered  rocks  and 
stones  could  be  seen,  covering  the  whole  surface.  But  her  fool 
«iever  faltered,  her  eye  read  way-marks  where  his  saw  none;  she 
went  on,  he  did  not  doubt  unerringly,  over  the  leaf-strewn  and! 
rock-strewn  way,  over  ridge  and  hollow,  with  a  steady  light  swift= 
ness  that  he  could  not  help  admiring.  Once  they  came  to  a  little 
brawling  stream  of  spring  water,  hardly  three  inches  deep  any 
where  but  making  quite  a  wide  bed  for  itself  in  its  bright  way  to  the 
lowlands.  Mr.  Carleton  was  considering  how  he  should  contrive 
to  get  his  little  guide  over  it  in  safety,  when  quick, — over  the  little 
round  stones  which  lifted  their  heads  above  the  surface  of  the 
water,  on  the  tips  of  her  toes,  Fleda  tripped  across  before  he  had 
done  thinking  about  it.  He  told  her  he  had  no  doubt  now  that  she 
was  a  fairy  and  had  powers  of  walking  that  did  not  belong  to  other 
people.  Fleda  laughed,  and  on  her  little  demure  figure  went  pick- 
ing  out  the  way,  always  with  that  little  tin  pail  hanging  at  her 


32  QUXECHT. 

like— Mr.  Carleton  busied  himself  in  finding  out  similes  for  her.  If 
wasn't  very  easy. 

For  a  long  distance  their  way  was  through  a  thick  woodland, 
clear  of  underbrush  and  very  pleasant  walking,  but  permitting  no 
look  at  the  distant  country.  They  wound  about,  now  up  hill  and 
now  down,  till  at  last  they  began  to  ascend  in  good  earnest  ;  the 
road  became  better  marked,  and  Mr.  Carleton  came  up  with  his 
guide  again.  Both  were  obliged  to  walk  more  siowly.  He  had 
overcome  a  good  deal  of  Fleda's  reserve  and  she  talked  to  him 
.low  quite  freely,  without  however  losing  the  grace  of  amostcx* 
^uisite  modesty  in  everything  she  said  or  did. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  I  have  been  amusing  myself  with  all  this 
while,  Miss  Fleda?"  said  he,  after  walking  for  some  time  along 
side  of  her  in  silence.  "  I  have  been  trying  to  fancy  what  you 
looked  like  as  you  traveled  on  before  me  with  that  mysterious  tin 
pail." 

"  Well  what  did  I  look  like  ?  "  said  Fleda  laughing. 

"  Little  Red  Riding-Hood,  the  first  thing,  carrying  her  grand 
mother  the  pot  of  butter." 

"Ah  but  I  haven't  got  any  butter  in  this  as  it  happens,"  said 
Fleda,  "  and  I  hope  you  are  not  anything  like  the  wolf,  Mr.  Carle- 
ton  ?" 

"I  hope  not,"  said  he  laughing.  "Well,  then  I  thought  you 
might  be  one  of  those  young  ladies  the  fairy-stories  tell  of,  who  set 
out  over  the  world  to  seek  their  fortune.  That  might  hold,  you 
know,  a  little  provision  to  last  for  a  day  or  two  till  you  found  it." 

41  No,"  said  Fleda,—"  I  should  never  go  to  seek  my  fortune." 

"Why  not,  pray?" 

"  I  don't  think  I  should  find  it  any  the  sooner.*' 

Mr.  Carleton  looked  at  her  and  could  not  make  up  his  mind 
whether  or  not  she  spoke  wittingly. 

"Well,  but  after  all  are  we  not  seeking  our  fortune  ?"  said  he. 
"We  are  doing  something  very  like  it.  Now  up  here  on  the 
mountain  top  perhaps  we  shall  find  only  empty  trees — perhaps  trees 
with  a  harvest  of  nuts  on  them." 

"Yes,  but  that  wouldn't  be  like  finding  a  fortune,"  said  Fleda; 
r-et  if  we  were  to  come  to  a  great  heap  of  nuts  all  picked  out  ready 
or  us  to  carry  away,  that  would  be  a  fortune  ;  but  now  if  we  find 
he  trees  full  we  have  got  to  knock  them  down  and  gather  them  up 
ind  shuck  them." 

"  Vake  our  own  fortunes,  eh?"  said  Mr.  Carleton  smiling. 
3  Well  people  do  say  those  are  the  sweetest  nuts.  I  don't  know 
how  it  Hiay  be0  Ha !  that  is  fine.  What  an  atmosphere  !  " 

They  had  reached  a  height  of  the  mountain  that  cleared  them  a 
view,  and  over  the  tops  of  the  trees  they  looked  abroad  to  a  very 
wide  extent  of  country  undulating  with  hill  and  vale, — hill  and 
valley  alike  far  below  at  their  feet.  Fair  and  rich, — the  gently 
swelling  hills,  one  beyond  another,  in  the  patchwork  dress  of  their 
many-colored  fields, — the  gay  hues  of  the  woodland  softened  and 
melted  into  a  rich  autumn  glow, — and  far  away,  beyond  even 
where  this  glow  was  sobered  and  lost  in  the  distance,  the  faint  blue 
ftne  of  the  Catskill ;  faint,  but  clear  and  distinct  through  the  trans- 
P»*-°^t  air.  Such  a  sky ! — of  such  etherialized  purity  as  if  made  f«y 


QUEECHY.  91 

0 

Spirits  to  travel  in  and  tempting  them  to  rise  and  frtt  themselves 
from  the  soil  ;  and  the  stillness, — like  nature's  hand  laid  upon  the 
soul,  bidding  it  think.  In  view  of  all  that  vastness  and  grandeur, 
man's  littleness  does  bespeak  itself.  And  yet,  for  every  one,  the 
voice  of  the  scene  is  not  more  humbling  to  pride  than  rousing  lo  all 
that  is  really  noble  and  strong  in  character.  Not  only  "  What  thou 
art," — but  "What  thou  mayest  be!  "  What  place  thou  oughtest 
to  fill — what  work  thou  hast  to  do, — in  this  magnificent  world.  A 
very  extended  landscape  however  genial  is  also  sober  in  its  effect 
on  the  mind.  One  seems  to  emerge  from  the  narrowness  of  indk 
vidual  existence,  and  take  a  larger  view  of  Life  as  well  as  of  Crea-= 
tion. 

Perhaps  Mr.  Carleton  felt  it  so,  for  after  his  first  expression  of 
pleasure  he  stood  silently  and  gravely  looking  for  a  long  time.  Lit 
tle  Fleda's  eye  loved  it  too,  but  she  looked  her  fill  and  then  sat 
down  on  a  stone  to  await  her  companion's  pleasure,  glancing  now 
and  then  up  at  his  face  which  gave  her  no  encouragement  to  inter 
rupt  him.  It  was  gravely  and  even  gloomily  thoughtful.  He 
stood  so  long  without  stirring  that  poor  Fleda  began  to  have  sad 
thoughts  of  the  possibility  of  gathering  all  the  nuts  from  the  hick 
ory  trees,  and  she  heaved  a  very  gentle  sigh  once  or  twice  ;  but 
the  dark  blue  eye  which  she  with  reason  admired  remained  fixed 
on  the  broad  scene  below,  as  if  it  were  reading  or  trying  to  read 
there  a  difficult  lesson.  And  when  at  last  he  turned  and  began  to 
go  up  the  path  again  he  kept  the  same  face,  and  went  moodily 
swinging  his  arm  up  and  down,  as  if  in  disturbed  thought.  Fleda 
was  too  happy  to  be  moving  to  care  for  her  companion's  silence  ; 
she  would  have  compounded  for  no  more  conversation  so  they 
might  but  reach  the  nut  trees.  But  before  they  had  got  quite  so  far 
Mr.  Carleton  broke  the  silence,  speaking  in  precisely  the  same  tone 
and  manner  he  had  used  the  last  time. 

"  Look  here,  Fairy,"  said  he,  pointing  to  a  small  heap  of  chest 
nut  burs  ;iled  at  the  foot  of  a  tree, — "  here's  a  little  fortune  for 
you  already.*' 

"That's  a  squirrel!  "  said  Fleda,  looking  at  the  place  very  at- 
tentively.  "There  has  been  nobody  else  here.  He  has  put  them 
together,  ready  to  be  carried  off  to  his  nest." 

"  We'll  save  him  that  trouble,"  said  Mr.  Carleton.  "  Little  ras 
cal  !  he's  a  Didenhover  in  miniature." 

"  Oh  no  !  "  said  Fleda  ;  "  he  had  as  good  a  right  to  the  nuts  I 
Am  sure  as  we  have,  poor  fellow. — Mr.  Carleton — " 

Mr.  Carleton  was  throwing  the  nuts  into  the  basket.  At  the  anx 
ious  and  undecided  tone  in  which  his  name  was  pronounced  he 
stopped  and  looked  up,  at  a  very  wistful  face. 

"  Mightn't  we  leave  these  nuts  till  we  come  back  ?  If  we  find 
the  trees  over  here  full  we  sha'n't  want  them  ;  and  if  we  don't» 
these  would  be  only  a  handful — ' ' 

"And  the  squirrel  would  be  disappointed?"  said  Mr.  Carleton 
smiling.  "  You  would  rather  we  should  leave  them  to  him  ?  " 

Fleda  said  yes,  with  a  relieved  face,  and  Mr.  Carleton  still 
smiling  emptied  his  basket  of  the  few  nuts  he  had  put  in,  and 
they  walked  en. 

In  a  hollow,  rather  a  deep  hollow,  behind  the  .crest  of  the  hill,  as 


94  QVEECHY. 

Fleda  had  said,  they  came  at  last  to  a  noble  group  of  large  hickory 
trees,  with  one  or  two  chestnuts  standing  in  attendance  on  the  out 
skirts.  And  also  as  Fleda  had  said,  or  hoped,  the  place  was  so  fat 
from  convenient  access  that  nobody  had  visited  them  ;  they  were 
thick  hung  with  fruit.  If  the  spirit  of  the  game  had  been  wancing 
or  failing  in  Mr.  Carleton,  it  must  have  roused  again  into  full  life  at 
the  joyous  heartiness  of  Fleda' s  exclamations.  At  any  rate  no  boy 
could  have  taken  to  the  business  better.  He  cut,  with  her  permis 
sion,  a  stout  long  pole  in  the  woods  ;  and  swinging  himself  /ightly 
into  one  of  the  trees  shewed  that  he  was  a  master  in  the  art  of  whip 
ping  them.  Fleda  was  delighted  but  not  surprised  ;  for  from  the 
first  moment  of  Mr.  Carleton's  proposing  to  go  with  her  she  had 
been  privately  sure  that  he  would  not  prove  an  inactive  or  inefficient 
ally.  By  whatever  slight  tokens  she  might  read  this,  in  whatsoever 
fine  characters  of  the  eye,  or  speech,  or  manner,  she  knew  it ;  and 
knew  it  just  as  well  before  they  reached  the  hickory  trees  as  she  did 
afterward. 

When  one  ot  the  trees  was  well  stripped  the  young  gentleman 
mounted  into  another,  while  Fleda  set  herself  to  hull  and  gather  up 
the  nuts  under  the  one  first  beaten.  She  could  make  but  little 
headway  however  compared  with  her  companion  ;  the  nuts  fell  a 
great  deal  faster  than  she  could  put  them  in  her  basket.  The  trees 
were  heavy  laden  and  Mr.  Carleton  seemed  determined  to  have  the 
whole  crop  ;  from  the  second  tree  he  went  to  the  third.  Fleda  was 
bewildered  with  her  happiness ;  this  was  doing  business  in  style. 
She  tried  to  calculate  what  the  whole  quantity  would  be,  but  it  went 
beyond  her  ;  one  basketful  would  not  take  it,  nor  two,  nor  three, — 
It  wouldn't  begin  to,  Fleda  said  to  herself.  She  went  on  hulling 
and  gathering  with  all  possible  industry. 

After  the  third  tree  was  finished  Mr.  Carleton  threw  down  his 
pole,  and  resting  4iimself  upon  the  ground  at  the  foot  told  Fleda 
ne  would  wait  a  few  moments  before  he  began  again.  Fleda  there 
upon  left  off  her  work  too,  and  going  for  her  little  tin  pail  pres 
ently  offered  it  to  him  temptingly  stocked  with  pieces  of  apple-pie. 
\Vhen  he  had  i.nilingly  taken  one,  she  next  brought  him  a  sheet  of 
fcrhite  paper  with  slices  of  young  cheese. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  he. 

"Cheese  is  very  good  with  apple-pie,"  said  Fleda  competently. 

•'Is  it?"  said  he  laughing,  ,  "Well — upon  that — I  think  you 
ftrould  teach  me  a  good  many  things,  Miss  Fleda,  if  I  were  to  stay 
here  long  enough." 

"  I  wish  you  would  stay  and  try,  sir,"  said  Fleda,  who  did  not 
know  exactly  what  to  make  of  the  shade  of  seriousness  which 
crossed  his  face.  It  was  gone  almost  instantly. 

"  I  think  anything  is  oetter  eaten  out  in  the  woods  than  it  is  at 
home,"  said  Fleda. 

"  Well  I  don't  know,"  said  her  friend,  "  I  have  no  doubt  that  i? 
ihe  case  with  cheese  and  apple-pie,  and  especially  under  hickory 
trees  which  one  has  been  contending  with  pretty  sharply.  If  a 
touch  of  your  wand,  Fairy,  could  transform  one  of  these  shells  into 
c,  goblet  of  Lafitte  or  Amontillado  we  should  have  nothing  to  witfe 
for." 

•Amontillado '  was  Hebrew  to  Fleda,  but  'goblet '  was  intelligibK 


QUXECHY.  * 

"I  am  sorry!"  she  said, — "1  don't  know  where  there  is  any 
•pring  up  here, — but  we  shall  come  to  v.ne  going  down  the  moun 
tain." 

"  Do  you  know  where  all  the  springs  are  ?  " 

11  No,  not  alt,  I  suppose,"  said  Fleda,  "  but  I  know  a  good  many. 
I  have  gone  about  through  the  woods  so  much,  and  I  always  look 
for  the  springs." 

"  And  who  roams  about  through  the  woods  with  you?" 

"Oh  nobody  but  grandpa,"  said  Fleda.  "He  used  tr  be  out 
Mth  me  a  great  deal,  but  he  can't  go  much  now5 — this  year  or  two/* 

••  Don't  you  go  to  school  ?  " 

3*  O  no  !  "  said  Fleda  smiling. 

"  Then  your  grandfather  teaches  you  at  home  ?  " 

««  No," — said  Fleda, — "father  used  to  teach  me; — grandpa 
doesn't  teach  me  much." 

"  What  do  you  do  with  yourself  all  day  long  ?  " 

"  O  plenty  of  things,"  said  Fleda,  smiling  again.  "  I  read,  and 
talk  to  grandpa,  and  go  riding,  and  do  a  great  many  things." 

"  Has  your  home  always  been  here,  Fairy  ?  "  said  Mr.  Carleton 
kfter  a  few  minutes'  pause. 

Fleda  said  "  No  sir,"  and  there  stopped  ;  and  then  seeming  to 
think  that  politeness  called  upon  her  to  say  more,  she  added, 

"  I  have  lived  with  grandpa  ever  since  father  left  me  here  when 
he  was  going  away  among  the  Indians  — I  used  to  be  always  with 
him  before." 

"  And  how  long  ago  is  that  ?  " 

41  It  is — four  years,  sir  ; — more,  I  believe.  He  was  sick  when  he 
came  back,  and  we  never  went  away  from  Queechy  again." 

Mr.  Carleton  looked  again  silently  at  the  child,  who  had  given 
him  these  pieces  of  information  with  a  singular  grave  propriety  of 
manner,  and  even  as  it  were  reluctantly. 

"And  what  do  you  read,  Fairy?"  he  said  after  a  minute;— 
'stories  of  fairy-land  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Fleda,  "I  haven't  any.  We  haven't  a  great  many 
books — there  are  only  a  few  up  in  the  cupboard,  and  the  Encyclo 
paedia  ;  father  had  some  books,  but  they  are  locked  up  in  a  chest 
But  there  is  a  great  deal  in  the  Encyclopaedia." 

"  The  Encyclopaedia  !  "  said  Mr.  Carleton  ; — "  what  do  you  react 
fa  that  ?  what  can  you  find  to  like  there  ?  " 

••  I  *ce  all  about  the  insects,  and  birds  and  animals  ;  and  about 
flowers, — and  lives  of  people,  and  curious  things.  There  are  a 
great  many  in  it." 

"  And  what  are  the  other  books  in  the  cupboard,  which  yo* 
read  ? ' ' 

"There's  Quentin  Durward,"  said  Fleda,—1"  and  Rob  Roy,  and 
Guy  Mannering  in  two  little  bits  of  volumes  ;  and  the  Knicker 
bocker,  and  the  Christian's  Magazine,  and  an  odd  volume  of  Red- 
gauntlet,  and  the  Beauties  of  Scotland." 

"And  have  you  read  all  these,  Miss  Fleda?"  said  her  compan 
ion,  commanding  his  countenance  with  difficulty. 

"  I  haven't  read  quite  all  of  the  Christian's  Magazine,  nor  alJ  «t 
the  Beauties  of  Scotland."  . 

••All  therestr* 


58  QUEECBY. 

•'  C>  yes/'  said  Fleda, — "  and  two  or  three  times  over.     A  n(\  tV'r/* 
are  three  great  red  volumes  beside,  Robertson's  lmi\ry  of  r.ows 
Ihing,  I  believe.     I  haven't  read  that  either." 

"  And  which  of  them  all  do  you  like  the  best  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Fleda, — "  I  don't  know  but  I  like  to  Ttf'atf 
the  Encyclopaedia  as  well  as  any  of  them.  And  then  I  have  thf 
newspapers  to  read  too." 

"  I  think,  Miss  Fleda,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  a  minute  after,  •  yon 
toad  better  let  me  take  you  with  my  mother  over  the  sea,  when  \v*- 
go  back  again, — to  Paris." 

"Why,  sir?" 

"You  know,"  said  he  half  smiling,  "your  aunt  wants  you,  »»i 
has  engaged  my  mother  to  bring  you  with  her  if  she  can." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Fleda.     "  But  I  am  not  going." 

It  was  spoken  not  rudely  but  in  a  tone  of  quiet  determination. 

"Aren't  you  too  tired,  sir?"  said  she  gently,  when  she  saw  Mr. 
Carleton  preparing  to  launch  into  the  remaining  hickory  tree. 

"Not  I!  "  said  he.  "I  am  not  tired  till  1  have  done,  Fairy. 
And  besides,  cheese  is  working  man's  fare/you  know,  isn't  it?  " 

"  No,"  said  Fleda  gravely, — "  I  don't  think  it  is." 

"  What  then?"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  stopping  as  he  was  about  to 
spring  into  the  tree,  and  looking  at  her  with  a  face  of  comical  amuse 
ment. 

"  It  isn't  what  our  men  live  on,"  said  Fleda,  demurely  eyeing  the 
fallen  nuts,  with  a  head  full  of  business. 

They  set  both  to  work  again  with  renewed  energy,  and  rested 
not  till  the  treasures  of  the  trees  had  been  all  brought  to  the  ground, 
and  as  large  a  portion  of  them  as  could  be  coaxed  and  shaken  into 
Fleda's  basket  had  been  cleared  from  the  hulls  and  bestowed  there. 
But  there  remained  a  vast  quantity.  These  with  a  good  deal  of 
labor  Mr.  Carleton  and  Fleda  gathered  into  a  large  heap  in  rather 
a  sheltered  place  by  the  side  of  a  rock,  and  took  what  measures 
they  might  to  conceal  them.  This  was  entirely  at  Fleda's  instance. 

"You  and  your  maid  Cynthia  will  have  to  make  a  good  many 
journeys,  Miss  Fleda,  to  get  all  these  home,  unless  you  can  muster 
a  larger  basket." 

31  O  thafs  nothing,"  said  Fleda.  "  It  will  be  all  fun.  I  don't 
Care  how  many  times  we  have  to  come.  You  are  very  good,  Mr. 
Carleton." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  said  he.  "I  wish  I  did.  I  wish  you  woukk 
make  your  wand  rest  on  me,  Fairy." 

"My  wand?"  said  Fleda. 

«« Yes — you  know  your  grandfather  says  you  are  a  fairy  and  carry 
9.  wand.  What  does  he  say  that  for,  Miss  Fleda  ?  " 

Fleda  said  she  supposed  it  was  because  he  loved  her  so  much  ; 
but  the  rosy  smile  with  which  she  said  it  would  have  let  her  hearer, 
if  he  hadrfieeded  enlightening,  far  more  into  the  secret  than  she  was 
herself.  And  if  the  simplicity  in  her  face  had  not  been  equal  to  the 
wit,  Mr.  Carleton  would  never  have  ventured  the  look  of  admira 
tion  he  bestowed  on  her.  He  knew  it  was  safe.  Approbation  she 
saw,  and  it  made  her  smile  the  rosier  ;  but  the  admiration  was  a 
step  beyond  her  ;  Fleda  could  make  nothing  of  it. 

They  descended  the  mountain  now  with  a  hasty  step,  for  the  daj 


was  wearing  well  on.  At  the  spot  where  he  had  stood  so  long  when 
they  went  up,  Mr.  Carleton  paused  again  for  a  minute.  In  mount 
ain  scenery  every  hour  makes  a  change.  The  sun  was  lower  now, 
the  lights  and  shadows  more  strongly  contrasted,  the  sky  of  a  yet 
calmer  blue,  cool  and  clear  toward  the  horizon.  The  scene  said 
still  the  same  that  it  had  said  a  few  hours  before,  with  a  touch  more 
of  sadness;  it  seemed  to  whisper,  "All  things  have  an  end — thy 
time  may  not  be  for  ever — do  what  thou  wouldst  do — '  while  ye 
have  light  believe  in  the  light  that  ye  may  be  children  of  the 
light/  " 

Whether  Mr.  Carleton  read  it  so  or  not,  he  stood  for  a  minute 
motionless  and  went  down  the  mountain  looking  so  grave  that  Fleda 
did  not  venture  to  speak  to  him,  till  they  reached  the  neighborhood 
of  the  spring. 

"  What  are  you  searching  for,  Miss  Fleda?"  said  her  friend. 

She  was  making  a  busy  quest  here  and  there  by  the  side  of 
the  little  stream. 

"  I  was  looking  to  see  if  I  could  find  a  mullein  leaf,"  said  Fleda, 

"  A  mullein  leaf?  what  do  you  want  it  for  ?  " 

"I  want  it — to  make  a  drinking-cup  of,"  said  Fleda,  her  intent 
bright  eyes  peering  keenly  about  in  every  direction. 

"  A  mullein  leaf!  that  is  too  rough  ;  one  of  these  golden  leaves — 
what  are  they  ? — will  do  better,  won't  it  ?  " 

"That  is  hickory,"  said  Fleda.  "No;  the  mullein  leaf  is  the 
best  because  it  holds  the  water  so  nicely. — Here  it  is ! — " 

And  folding  up  one  of  the  largest  leaves  into  a  most  artist-like 
cup,  she  presented  it  to  Mr.  Carleton. 

41  For  me,  was  all  that  trouble  ?  "  said  he.     "  I  don't  deserve  it." 

"  You  wanted  something,  sir,"  said  Fleda.  "The  water  is  very 
cold  and  nice.'" 

He  stooped  to  the  bright  little  stream  and  filled  his  rural  goblet 
several  times. 

"  I  never  knew  what  it  was  to  have  a  fairy  for  my  cup-bearer  be* 
fore,"  said  he.  "That  was  better  than  anything  Bordeaux  or 
Xeres  ever  se~  forth." 

He  seemed  to  have  swallowed  his  seriousness,  or  thrown  it  away 
with  the  mullein  leaf.  It  was  quite  gone. 

"This  is  the  best  spring  in  all  grandpa's  ground,"  said  Fleda. 
**The  water  is  as  good  as  can  be." 

15  How  come  you  to  be  such  a  wood  and  water  spirit?  you  must 
live  out  of  doors.  Do  the  trees  ever  talk  to  you?  I  sometimes 
think  they  do  to  me." 

"  I  don't  know— I  think  /  talk  to  them"  said  Fleda. 

"It's  the  same  thing,"  said  her  companion  smiling.  '  Such 
beautiful  woods!  " 

"  Were  you  never  in  the  country  before  in  the  fall,  sir?" 

"  Not  here — in  my  own  country  often  enough — but  the  woods  in 
England  do  not  put  on  such  a  gay  face,  Miss  Fleda,  when  they  are 
going  to  be  stripped  of  their  summer  dress — they  look  sober  upon 
it — the  leaves  wither  and  grow  brown  and  the  woods  have  a  dull 
russet  color.  Your  trees  are  true  Yankees — they  '  never  say  die !  '*' 

"  Why,  are  the  Americans  more  obstinate  than  the  English?"" 
%aid  Fleda 


88  QUEECffT. 

••  It  is  difficult  to  compare  unknown  quantities/'  said  Mr.  Carle* 
ten  laughing  and  shaking  his  head.  "  I  see  you  have  good  ears  fot 
the  key-note  of  patriotism." 

Fleda  looked  a  little  hard  at  him,  but  he  did  not  explain  ;  and  in 
deed  they  were  hurrying  along  too  much  for  talking  ;  leaping  from 
stone  to  stone,  and  running  down  the  smooth  orchard  slope.  When 
they  reached  th;  ":.st  fence,  but  a  little  way  from  the  house,  Fleda 
made  a  resolute  pause. 

"Mr.  Carleton— "  said  she. 

Mr.  Carleton  put  down  his  basket,  and  looked  in  some  surprise 
at  the  hesitating  anxious  little  face  that  looked  up  at  him. 

••  Won't  you  please  not  say  anything  to  grandpa  about  my  going 
away  ?" 

•  Why  not,  Fairy  ?  "  said  he  kindly. 

1  Because  I  don't  think  I  ought  to  go." 

•  But  may  it  not  be  possible,"  said  he,  "  that  your  grandfatha 
can  judge  better  in  the  matter  than  you  can  do  ?  " 

'  No,"  said  Fleda,  "  I  don't  think  he  can.     He  would  do  an> 
thing  he  thought  would  be  most  for  my  happiness  ;  but  it  wouldu  |. 
be  for  my  happiness,"  she  said  with  an  unsteady  lip, — "  I  doi  i 
know  what  he  would  do  if  I  went !  " 

"  You  think  he  would  have  no  sunshine  if  your  wand  didn't  touch 
him?"  said  Mr.  Carleton  smiling. 

"  No  sir,"  said  Fleda  gravely, — "  I  don't  think  that, — but  won't 
you  please,  Mr.  Carleton,  not  to  speak  about  it?  " 

"  But  are  you  sure,"  he  said,  sitting  down  on  a  stone  hard  l/y  and 
taking  one  of  her  hands,  "  are  you  sure  that  you  would  nof  like  to 
go  with  us?  I  wish  you  would  change  your  mind  about  it.  My 
mother  will  love  you  very  much,  and  I  will  take  the  especiul  charge 
of  you  till  we  give  you  to  your  aunt  in  Paris  ; — if  the  wind  blows  a 
little  too  rough  I  will  always  put  myself  between  it  and,  you,"  he 
added  smiling. 

Fleda  smiled  faintly,  but  immediately  begged  Mr.  Qrleton  "  not 
to  say  anything  to  put  it  into  her  grandfather's  head." 

"  It  must  be  there  already,  I  think,  Miss  Fleda  ;  b-Jt  at  any  rate 
you  know  my  mother  must  perform  her  promise  to  your  aunt 
Mrs.  Rossitur ;  and  she  would  not  do  that  without  letting  your 
grandfather  know  how  glad  she  would  be  to  take  you."" 

Fleda  stood  silent  a  moment,  and  then  with  a  touching  look  of 
waiting  patience  in  her  sweet  face  suffered  Mr.  Cavleton  to  help  net 
over  the  fence  ;  and  they  went  home. 

To  Fleda' s  unspeakable  surprise  it  was  found  to  be  past  four 
o'clock,  and  Cynthy  had  supper  ready.  Mr.  Ringgan  with  great 
cordiality  invited  Mr,  Carleton  to  stay  with  them,  but  he  could  not ; 
his  mother  would  expect  him  to  dinner. 

"Where  is  your  mother?  " 

"  At  Montepoole,  sir  ;  we  have  been  to  Niagara,  and  came  thi* 
way  on  our  return  ;  partly  that  my  mother  might  fulfil  the  promise 
she  made  Mrs.  Rossitur — to  let  yon  know,  sir,  with  how  much 
pleasure  she  will  take  charge  of  your  little  granddaughter  and 
convey  her  to  her  friends  in  Paris,  if  you  can  think  it  best  to  let 
ber  go." 

•'Hum'— she  is  very  kind/'  said  Mr.  Ringgan.  with  a  look  of 


QUEECBY.  M 

grave  and  not  unmoved  consideration  which  Fleda  did  not  in  tto 

least  like ; — "  How  long  will  you  stay  at  Montepoole,  sir?" 

It  might  be  several  days,  Mr.  Carleton  said. 

"  Hum — You  have  given  up  this  day  to  Fleda,  Mr.  Carleton,-— 
suppose  you  take  to-morrow  for  the  game,  and  come  here  and  try 
our  country  fare  when  you  have  got  through  shooting ! — you  and 
young  Mr.  Rossitur? — and  I'll  think  over  this  question  and  let  you 
know  about  it." 

Fleda  was  delighted  to  see  that  her  friend  accepted  this  invitatio» 
with  apparent  pleasure. 

"  You  will  be  kind  enough  to  give  my  respects  to  your*mothertv 
Mr.  Ringgan  went  on,  "and  thanks  for  her  kind  offer.  I  may 
perhaps—!  don't  know — avail  myself  of  it.  If  anything  should 
bring  Mrs.  Carleton  this  way  we  should  like  to  see  her.  I  am  glad 
to  see  my  friends,"  he  said,  shaking  the  young  gentleman's  hand, 
—"as  long  as  I  have  a  house  to  ask  'em  to !  " 

"That  will  be  for  many  years,  I  trust,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  re 
spectfully,  struck  with  something  in  the  old  gentleman's  manner. 

14 1  don't  know  sir!  "  said  Mr.  Ringgan,  with  again  the  dignified 
look  of  trouble  ; — "  it  may  not  be  !— I  wish  you  good  day.  sir." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

A  mind  that  in  a  calm  angelic  mood 

Of  happy  wisdom,  meditating  good, 

Beholds,  of  all  from  her  high  powers  required, 

Much  done,  and  much  designed,  and  more  desired, — 

WORDSWORTH. 

••  I'VE  had  such  a  delicious  day,  dear  grandpa," — said  littl 
Fleda  as  they  sat  at  supper ;— * "  you  can't  think  how  kind  Mi 
Carleton  has  been." 

44  Has  he  ?— Well  dear— I'm  glad  on't,— he  seems  a  very  nict 
young  man." 

44  He's  a  smart-lookin*  feller,"  said  Cynthy,  who  was  pouring  out 
the  tea. 

'"And  we  have  got  the  greatest  quantity  of  nuts!  "  Fleda  went 
on, — "  enough  for  all  winter.  Cynthy  and  I  will  have  to  make  ever 
«o  many  journeys  to  fetch  'em  all ;  and  they  are  splendid  bier  ones 
Don't  you  say  anything  to  Mr.  Didenhover,  Cynthy." 

"  I  don't  desire  to  meddle  with,  Mr.  Didenhover  unless  I've  got 
to,"  said  Cynthy  with  an  expression  of  considerable  disgust.  "You 
needn't  give  no  charges  to  me." 

"  But  you'J  go  with  me,  Cynthy  ?  " 

4<  I  s'pose  I'll  have  to,"  said  Miss  Gall  dryly,  after  a  short  interva) 
£>{  sipping  tea  and  helping  herself  to  sweetmeats. 

This  lady  had  a  pervading  acidity  of  face  and  temper,  but  it  was 
no  more.  To  take  her  name  as  standing  for  a  fair  setting  forth  of 
her  character  would  be  highly  inju/ious  to  a  really  respectable  com 
position,  which  the  world's  neglect  (there  was  no  other  imaginable 
cause)  had  soured  a  little. 

Almost  Fleda' s  first  thought  on  coming  home  had  been  about  Mr 


*>  QUEECHY, 

folly.  But  she  knew  very  well,  without  asking,  that  he  had  not 
been  there  ;  she  would  not  touch  the  subject. 

"  1  haven't  had  such  a  fine  day  of  nutting  in  a  great  while,  grand 
pa,"  she  said  again  ;  "  and  you  never  saw  such  a  good  hand  as 
Mr.  Carleton  is  at  whipping  the  trees." 

"  How  came  he  to  go  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,— I  suppose  it  was  to  please  me,  in  the  first  place; 
but  I  am  sure  he  enjoyed  it  himself ;  and  he  liked  the  pie  and  cheese, 
loo,  Cynthy." 

"  Where  did  your  cousin  go  ?  " 

"O  he  went  off  after  the  woodcock.  I  hope  he  didn't  fin4 
3ttiy. " 

"  What  do  you  think  of  those  two  young  men,  Fairy  ?  " 

"  In  what  way,  grandpa  ?  " 

"  I  mean,  which  of  them  do  you  like  the  best?" 

"  Mr.  Carleton." 

"But  t'other  one's  your  cousin,"  said  Mr.  Ringgan,  bending 
forward  and  examining  his  little  granddaughter's  face  with  a 
curious  pleased  look,  as  he  often  did  when  expecting  an  answer 
from  her. 

"  Yes,"  said  Fleda,  "but  he  isn't  so  much  of  a  gentleman." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

•'  I  don't  think  he  is,"  said  Fleda  quietly. 

"But  why,  Fairy?" 

••  He  doesn't  know  how  to  keep  his  word  as  well,  grandpa." 

"Ay,  ay?  let's  hear  about  that,"  said  Mr.  Ringgan. 

A  little  reluctantly,  for  Cynthia  was  present,  Fleda  told  the 
story  of  the  robins,  and  how  Mr.  Carleton  would  not  let  the  gun 
be  fired. 

"  Wa'n't  your  cousin  a  little  put  out  by  that?" 

"They  were  both  put  out,"  said  Fleda;  "Mr.  Carleton  was 
very  angry  for  a  minute,  and  then  Mr.  Rossitur  was  angry,  but  I 
think  he  could  have  been  angrier  if  he  had  chosen." 

Mr.  Ringgan  laughed,  and  then  seemed  in  a  sort  of  amused 
triumph  about  something. 

"  Well  dear !  "  he  remarked  after  a  while, — "  you'll  never  buy 
wooden  nutmegs,  I  expect." 

Fleda  laughed  and  hoped  not,  and  asked  him  why  he  said  so. 
But  he  didn't  tell  her. 

"Mr.  Ringgan,"  said  Cynthy,  "hadn't  I  better  run  up  the  hil 
after  supper,  and  ask  Mis'  Pltfmfield  to  come  down  and  help  to 
morrow.  I  s'pose  you'll  want  considerable  of  a  set-out ;  and  if 
both  them  young  men  comes  you'll  want  some  more  help  to  enter* 
tain  'em  than  I  can  give  you,  it's  likely." 

11  Do  so— do  so,"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "  Tell  her  who  I  ex» 
pect,  and  ask  her  if  she  can  coirfe  and  help  you,  and  me  too." 

"  O  and  I'll  go  with  you,  Cynthy,"  said  Fleda.  "  I'll  get  aunt 
Miriam  to  come,  I  know" 

"  I  should  think  you'd  be  run  off  your  legs  already,  Flidda,"  said 
Miss  Cynthia  ;  "what  ails  you  to  want  to  be  going  again  ? "' 

But  this  remonstrance  availed  nothing.  Sapper  was  hurried 
through,  and  leaving  the  table  standing  Cynthia  and  Fleda  set  oft 
lo  "  run  up  the  hill. 


QUEECHY.  « 

They  were  hardly  a  few  steps  from  the  gate  when  th^  heat'l  the 
clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  behind  them,  and  the  two  young  gentlemen 
came  riding  hurriedly  past,  have  joined  company  ana  taken  their 
horses  at  Queechy  Run.  Rossitur  did  not  seem  to  see  his  little 
cousin  and  her  companion  ;  but  the  doffed  cap  and  low  inclination 
of  the  other  rider  as  they  flew  by  called  up  a  smile  and  blush  of 
pleasure  to  Fleda's  face;  and  the  sound  of  their  horses'  hoofs  had 
died  away  in  the  distance  before  the  light  had  faded  from  her 
cheeks, or  she  was  quite  at  home  to  Cynthia's  observation.  She 
was  possessed  with  the  feeling,  what  a  delightful  thing  it  was  tc 
have  people  do  things  in  such  a  manner. 

11  That  was  your  cousin,  wa'n't  it?"  said  Cynthy,  when  the  spell 
was  off. 

"  No,"  said  Fleda,  "  the  other  one  was  my  cousin." 

"  Well — I  mean  one  of  them  fellers  that  went  by.  He's  a  soldier* 
ain't  he?  " 

•'  An  officer,"  said  Fleda. 

14  Well,  it  does  give  a  man  an  elegant  look  to  be  in  the  militie, 
don't  it  ?  I  should  admire  to  have  a  cousin  like  that.  It's  dreadful 
becoming  to  have  that — what  is  it  they  call  it  ? — to  let  the  beard 
grow  over  the  mouth.  I  s'pose  they  can't  do  that  without  they  be 
in  the  army,  can  they  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Fleda.  "I  hope  not.  I  think  it  is  very 
ugly." 

"  Do  you  ?    Oh  ! — 1  admire  it.     It  makes  a  man  look  so  spry !  " 

A  few  hundred  yards  from  Mr.  Ringgan's  gate  the  road  began  to 
wind  up  a  very  long  heavy  hill.  Just  at  the  hill's  foot  it  crossed  by 
a  rude  bridge  the  bed  of  a  noisy  brook  that  came  roaring  down  from 
the  higher  grounds,  turning  sundry  mill  and  factory  wheels  in  its 
way.  About  half  way  up  the  hill  one  of  these  was  placed,  belong 
ing  to  a  mill  for  sawing  boards.  The  little  building  stood  alone,  no 
other  in  sight,  with  a  dark  background  of  wood  rising  behind  it  on 
the  other  side  of  the  brook  ;  the  stream  itself  running  smoothly  for 
a  small  space  above  the  mill,  and  leaping  down  madly  below,  as  if 
it  disdained  its  bed  and  would  clear  at  a  bound  every  impediment 
in  its  way  to  the  sea.  When  the  mill  was  not  going  the  quantity  of 
water  that  found  its  way  down  the  hill  was  indeed  very  smallt 
enough  only  to  keep  up  a  pleasant  chattering  witk  the  stones  ;  but 
as  soon  as  the  stream  was  allowed  to  gather  all  its  force  and  rur 
free  its  loquacity  was  such  that  it  would  prevent  a  traveler  from  sus* 
pecting  his  approach  to  the  mill,  until,  very  near,  the  monotonous 
hum  cf  its  saw  could  be  heard.  This  was  a  place  Fleda  dearly 
loved.  The  wild  sound  of  the  waters,  and  the  lonely  keeping  of  the 
scene,  with  the  delicious  smell  of  the  new-sawn  boards,  and  the 
fascination  of  seeing  the  great  logs  of  wood  walk  up  to  the  relentlcsc 
tireless  up-and-down-going  steel  ;  as  the  generations  of  men  in  turn 
present  themselves  to  the  course  of  those  sharp  events  which  are  the 
teeth  of  Time's  saw  ;  until  all  of  a  sudden  the  master  spirit,  the  man- 
regulator  of  this  machinery,  would  perform  some  conjuration  on 
lever  and  wheel, — and  at  once,  as  at  the  touch  of  an  enchanter,  the 
log  would  be  still  and  the  saw  stay  its  work  ; — the  business  of  life 
came  to  a  stand,  and  the  romance  of  the  little  brook  sprang  up 
again.  Fleda  never  tired  of  it— never.  She  would  watch  the  *** 


«  QUEECHY. 

i 

play  and  stop,  and  go  on  again  ;  she  would  have  her  ears  dinned  with 
the  hoarse  clang  of  the  machinery,  and  then  listen  to  the  laugh  of 
the  mill-stream  ;  she  would  see  with  untiring  patience  one  board 
after  another  cut  and  cast  aside,  and  log  succeed  to  log  ;  and  never 
turned  weary  away  from  that  mysterious  im;."*  of  Time's  doings. 
Fleda  had  besides,  without  knowing  it,  the  eye  o»'  a  painter.  In  the 
lonely  hill-side,  the  odd-shaped  little  mill  with  its  accompaniments 
of  wood  and  water,  and  the  great  logs  of  timber  lying  about  the 
f  round  in  all  directions  and  varieties  of  position,  there  was  a  pic 
turesque  charm  for  her,  where  the  country  people*  saw  nothing  but 
business  and  a  place  fit  for  it.  Their  hands  grew  hard  where  her 
mind  was  refining.  Where  they  made  dollars  and  cents,  she  was 
growing  rich  in  stores  of  thought  and  associations  of  beauty.  How 
many  purposes  the  same  thing  serves  ! 

"  That  had  ought  to  be  your  grandpa's  mill  this  minute,"  ol> 
•served  Cynthy. 

" I  wish  it  was !  "  sighed  Fleda.     "  Who's  got  it  now,  Cynthy? " 

"  O  it's  that  chap  McGowan,  I  expect ;— he's  got  pretty  much  the 
,ull  of  everything.  I  told  Mr.  Ringgan  I  wouldn't  let  him  have  it 
if  it  was  me,  at  time.  Your  grandpa'd  be  glad  to  get  it  back  now, 
I  guess." 

Fleda  guessed  so  too  ;  but  also  guessed  that  Miss  Gall  was  prob 
ably  very  far  from  being  possessed  of  the  whole  rationale  of  the 
matter.  So  she  made  her  no  answer. 

After  reaching  the  brow  of  the  hill  the  road  continued  on  a  very 
gentle  ascent  toward  a  little  settlement  half  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off; 
passing  now  and  then  a  few  scattered  cottages  or  an  occasional 
mill  or  turner's  shop.  Several  mills  and  factories,  with  a  store  and 
a  very  few  dwelling-houses  were  all  the  settlement ;  not  enough  to 
entitle  it  to  the  name  of  a  village.  Beyond  these  and  the  mill-ponds, 
of  which  in  the  course  of  the  road  there  were  three  or  four,  and 
with  a  brief  intervening  space  of  cultivated  fields,  a  single  farm 
house  stood  alone  ;  just  upon  the  borders  of  a  large  and  very  fair 
sheet  of  water  from  which  all  the  others  had  their  supply. — So  large 
and'  fair  that  nobody  cavilled  at  its  taking  the  style  of  a  Jake  and 
giving  its  own  pretty  name  of  Deepwater  both  to  the  settlement  and 
the  farm  that  half  embraced  it.  This  farm  was  Seth  Plumfield's. 

At  the  garden  gate  Fleda  quitted  Cynthy  and  rushed  forward  to 
meet  her  aunt,  whom  she  saw  coming  round  the  corner  of  the  house 
with  her  gown  pinned  up  behind  her,  from  attending  to  some  domes* 
fcc  concern  among  the  pigs,  the  cows,  or  the  poultry. 

"O  aunt  Miriam,"  said  Fleda  eagerly,  "we  are  going  to  have 
company  to  tea  to-morrow — won't  you  come  and  help  us?  " 

Aunt  Miriam  laid  her  hands  upon  Fleda's  shoulders  and  looked 
at  Cynthy. 

"  I  came  up  to  see  if  you  wouldn't  come  down  to-morrow,  Mis' 
Plumfield,"  said  that  personage,  with  her  usual  dry  business  tone, 
always  a  little  on  the  wrong  side  of  sweet  : — "your  brother  has 
taken  a  notion  to  ask  two  f  oung  fellers  from  the  Pool  to  supper,  and 
they're  grand  folks  I  s'pose,  and  have  got  to  have  a  fuss  made  for 
'em.  I  don't  know  what  Mr.  Ringgan  was  thinkin'  of,  or  whether 
he  thinks  I  have  got  anything  to  do  or  not ;  but  anyhow  they're  a 
"  i*.  I  s'pose,  and  must  have  some  thin'  to  eat ;  and  I  thought 


fte  best  thing  I  could  do  would  be  to  come  and  get  you  into  the 
works,  if  I  could.  I  should  feel  a.  little  queer  to  have  nobody  but 
me  to  say  nothin'  to  them  at  the  table." 

11  Ah  do  come,  aunt  Miriam !  "  said  Fleda  ;  "  it  will  be  twice  as 
pleasant  if  you  do  ;  and  besides,  we  want  to  have  everything  very 
nice,  you  know." 

Aunt  Miriam  smiled  at  Fleda,  and  inquired  of  Miss  Gall  what  she 
had  in  the  house. 

"Why  I  don't  know,  Mis'  Plumfield,"  said  the  lady,  while  Fleda 
threw  her  arms  round  her  aunt  and  thanked  her, — "there  ain't 
nothin'  particler — pork  and  beef  and  the  old  story.  I've  got  some 
first-rate  pickles.  I  calculated  to  make  some  sort  o'  cake  in  the 
morning." 

"  Any  of  those  small  hams  left?  " 

"  Not  a  bone  of  'em — these  six  weeks,  /don't  see  how  they've 
gone,  for  my  part.  I'd  lay  any  wager  there  were  two  in  the  smoke 
house  when  I  took  the  last  one  out.  If  Mr.  Didenhover  was  a  little 
more  like  a  weasel  I  should  think  he'd  been  in." 

"  Have  you  cooked  that  rooster  I  sent  down  ?" 

"  No,  Mis'  Plumfield,  I  ha' n't — it's  such  a  plaguy  sight  of 
trouble!"  said  Cynthy  with  a  little  apologetic  giggle; — "I  was 
keepin'  it  for  some  day  when  I  hadn't  much  to  do." 

"  I'll  take  the  trouble  of  it.  I'll  be  down  bright  and  early  in  the 
morning,  and  we'll  see  what's  best  to  do.  How's  your  last  churn 
ing,  Cynthy?" 

•«  Well— I  guess  it's  pretty  middlin',  Mis'  Plumfield." 

"Tisn't  anything  very  remarkable,  aunt  Miriam,"  said  Fleda 
shaking  her  head. 

"Well,  well,"  said  Mrs.  Plumfield  smiling,  "run  away  down 
home  now,  and  I'll  come  to-morrow,  and  I  guess  we'll  fix  it.  But 
who  is  it  that  grandpa  has  asked  ?" 

Fleda  and  Cynthy  both  opened  at  once. 

"  One  of  them  is  my  cousin,  aunt  Miriam,  that  was  at  West  Point, 
and  the  other  is  the  nicest  English  gentleman  you  ever  saw — you  * 
will  like  him  very  much — he  has  been  with  me  getting  nuts  all  to 
day." 

"  They're  a  smart  enough  couple  of  chaps,"  said  Cynthia  ;  "  they 
look  as  if  they  lived  where  money  was  plenty." 

"Well  I'll  come  to-morrow,"  repeated  Mrs.  Plumfield,  "  and  we'H 
lee  about  it.  Good-night,  dear  !  " 

She  took  Fleda's  head  in  both  her  hands  and  gave  her  a  most  af 
fectionate  kiss  ;  and  the  two  petitioners  set  off  homeward  again. 

Aunt  Miriam  was  not  at  all  like  her  brother,  in  feature,  though 
the  moral  characteristics  suited  the  relationship  sufficiently  well. 
There  was  the  expression  of  strong  sense  and  great  benevolence; 
the  unbendinguprightness,  of  mind  and  body  at  once;  and  the  dig 
nity  of  an  essentially  noble  character, not  the  same  as  Mr.  Ringgan's, 
but  such  as  well  became  his  sister.  She  had  been  brought  up 
among  the  quakers,  and  though  now  and  for  many  years  a  staunch 
Presbyterian,  she  still  retained  a  tincture  of  the  calm  efficient  gentle 
ness  of  mind  and  manner  that  belongs  so  inexplicably  to  them.  More 
womanly  sweetness  than  was  in  Mr.  Ringgan's  blue  eye  a  woman 
need  not  wish  to  have;  and  perhaps  his  sister's  had  not  so  much. 


44  QVEEVHY. 

There  was  no  want  of  it  in  her  heart,  nor  in  her  manner,  but  thu 
many  and  singular  excellencies  of  her  character  were  a  little  over 
shadowed  by  super-excellent  housekeeping.  Not  a  taint  of  the  lit 
tleness  that  sometimes  grows  therefrom, — not  a  trace  of  the  narrow 
ness  of  mind  that  over-attention  to  such  pursuits  is  too  apt  to  bring  ; 
—on  every  important  occasion  aunt  Miriam  would  come  out  free  and 
unshackled  from  all  the  cobweb  entanglements  of  housewifery  ;  she 
would  have  tossed  housewifery  to  the  winds  if  need  were  (out  it 
never  was,  for  in  a  new  sense  she  always  contrived  to  make  both 
3nds  meet.)  It  was  only  in  the  unbroken  everyday  course  of  affairs 
;hat  aunt  Miriam's  face  showed  any  tokens  of  that  incessant  train  of 
small  cares  which  had  never  left  their  impertinent  footprints  upon  the 
broad  high  brow  of  her  brother.  Mr.  Ringgan  had  no  affinity  with 
small  cares  ;  deep  serious  matters  received  hie  deep  and  serious 
consideration  ;  but  he  had  as  dignified  a  disdain  of  trifling  annoy 
ances  or  concernments  as  any  great  mastiff  or  Newfoundlander  ever 
tad  for  the  yelping  of  a  little  cur. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Ynne  London  citye  was  I  borne, 

Of  parents  of  grete  note ; 
My  fadre  dydd  a  nobile  arms 

Emblazon  onne  hys  cote. 

CHATTERTON. 

IN  the  snuggest  and  best  private  room  of  the  House  at  Monte* 
poole  a  party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  were  gathered,  awaiting  the 
return  of  the  sportsmen.  The  room  had  been  made  as  comfortable 
as  any  place  could  be  in  a  house  built  for  "  the  season,"  after  the 
season  was  past.  A  splendid  fire  of  hickory  logs  was  burning  bril 
liantly  and  making  amends  for  many  deficiencies  ;  the  closed 
wooden  shutters  gave  the  reality  if  not  the  look  of  warmth,  for 
though  the  days  might  be  fine  and  mild  the  mornings  and  evenings 
were  always  very  cool  up  there  among  the  mountains  ;  and  a  table 
stood  at  the  last  point  of  readiness  for  having  dinner  served.  They 
only  waited  for  the  lingering  woodcock-hunters. 

It  was  rather  an  elderly  party,  with  the  exception  of  one  young 
.nan  whose  age  might  match  that  of  the  absent  two.  He  was  walk- 
.ng  up  and  down  the  room  with  somewhat  the  air  of  having  nothing 
;o  do  with  himself.  Another  gentleman,  much  older,  stood  warming 
his  back  at  the  fire,  feeling  about  his  jaws  and  chin  with  one 
hand  and  looking  at  the  dinner-table  in  a  sort  of  expectant  reverie. 
The  rest,  three  ladies,  sat  quietly  chatting.  All  these  persons  were 
extremely  different  from  one  another  in  individual  characteristics, 
and  all  had  the  unmistakable  mark  of  habit  of  good  society  ;  as 
difficult  to  locate  and  as  easy  to  recognize  as  the  sense  of  freshness 
which  some  ladies  have  the  secret  of  diffusing  around  themselves  ; 
— no  definable  sweetness,  nothing  in  particular,  but  making  a  very 
agreeable  impression. 

One  of  these  ladies,  th«  mother  of  the  perambulating  young  officer, 
(he  was  a  class-mate  of  Rossitur's)  was  extremely  plain  in  feature, 
tven  more  than  trdiiMi.  This  plainness  was  not  however  devoid 


43 

of  sense,  and  it  was  relieved  by  an  uncommon  amount  o*  ^ood-na« 
tare  and  kindness  of  heart.  In.  her  son  the  sense  deepened  into 
acuteness,  and  the  kindness  of  heart  retreated,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  into 
some  hidden  recess  of  his  nature  ;  for  it  very  rarely  showed  itself  in 
open  expression.  That  is,  to  an  eye  keen  in  reading  the  natural 
signs  of  emotion  ;  for  it  cannot  be  said  that  his  mannei  had  any 
want  of  amenity  or  politeness. 

The  second  lady,  the  wife  of  the  gentleman  on  the  hearth-rug,  c 
rather  on  the  spot  where  the  hearth-rug  should  have  been,  was  3. 
strong  contrast  to  this  mother  and  son  ;  remarkably  pretty,  delicai 
ind  even  lovely  ;  with  a  black  eye  however  that  though  in  genera 
ioft  could  show   a  mischievous  sparkle  upon  occasion  ;  still  youn^., 
And   one   of  those  women   who  always  were  and  always  will 
preity  and  delicate  at  any  age. 

The  third  had  been  very  handsome,  and  was  still  a  very  elegant 
woman,  but  her  face  had  seen  more  of  the  world's  wear  and  tear. 
It  never  had  known  placidity  of  expression  beyond  what  the 
habitual  command  of  good-breeding  imposed.  She  looked  exactly 
what  she  was,  a  perfect  woman  of  the  world.  A  very  good  speci 
men, — for  Mrs.  Carleton  had  sense  and  cultivation  and  even  feeling 
enough  to  play  the  part  very  gracefully  ;  yet  her  mind  was  bound  in 
the  shackles  of  "the  world's  "  tyrannical  forging  and  had  never 
been  free  ;  and  her  heart  bowed  submissively  to  the  same  authority. 

"  Here  they  are  !  Welcome  home,"  exclaimed  this  lady,  as  her 
son  and  his  friend  at  length  made  their  appearance  ; — "Welcome 
home — we  are  all  famishing  ;  and  I  don't  know  why  in  the  world  we 
waited  for  you  for  I  am  sure  you  don't  deserve  it.  What  success? 
What  success,  Mr.  Rossitur?" 

"  'Faith  ma'am,  there's  little  enough  to  boast  of,  as  far  as  I  am 
concerned.  Mr.  Carleton  may  speak  for  himself." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  ma'am,  you  waited  for  me,"  said  that  gentle 
man.  "I  am  a  delinquent  I  acknowledge.  The  day  came  to  an 
end  before  I  was  at  all  aware  of  it." 

"  It  would  'not  do  to  flatter  you  so  far  as  to  tell  you  why  we 
waited,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn's  soft  voice.  And  then  perceiving  that 
the  gentleman  at  whom  she  was  looking  gave  her  no  answer  she 
turned  to  the  other.  "  How  many  woodcock,  Mr.  Rossitur?  " 

"  Nothing  to  show,  ma'am,"  he  replied.  "  Didn't  see  a  solitary 
jne.  I  heard  some  partridges,  but  I  didn't  mean  to  have  room  in 
uy  bag  for  them." 

•'  Did  you  find  the  right  ground,  Rossitur?" 

..  "  I  had  a  confounded  long  tramp  after  it  if  I  didn't,"  said  the 
discomfited  sportsman,  who  did  not  seem  to  have  yet  recovered  hfr 
good  humor. 

"  Were  you  not  together?  "  said  Mrs.  Carleton.  "  Where  wen, 
you,  Guy  ? " 

"  Following  the  sport  another  way,  ma'am  ;  I  had  very  good  suc 
cess  too." 

"  What's  the  total?"  said  Mr.  Evelyn.  "  How  much  game  did 
you  bag  ?  " 

"  Really  sir,  I  didn't  count.     I  can  only  answer  for  a  bag  full." 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen!"  cried  Rotsitur,  bursting  .  forth, ^— 
"  What  will  you  say  wfcfifl  I  tell  you  that  Mr.  Carlfetoa  dfgrted  me 


to  QUEECHY. 

and  the  sport  in  a  most  unceremonious  manner,  and  that  he, — the 
cynical  philosopher,  the  reserved  English  gentleman,  the  gay  man 
of  the  world, — you  are  all  of  'em  by  turns,  aren't  you,  Carleton  ? — 
Me! — has  gone  and  made  a  very  cavaliero  servante  of  himself  to  a 
piece  of  rusticity,  and  spent  all  to-day  in  helping  a  little  girl  pickup 
chestnuts  !  " 

"  Mr.  Carleton  would  be  a  better  man  if  he  were  to  spend  a  food 
many  more  days  in  the  same  manner,"  said  that  gentleman,  dryly 
enough.  But  the  entrance  of  dinner  put  a  stop  to  both*  laughter 
and  questioning  for  a  time,  all  of  the  party  being  well  disposed  to 
Sieir  meat. 

When  the  pickerel  from  the  lakes,  and  the  poultry  and  half-kept 
joints  had  had  their  share  of  attention,  and  a  pair  of  fine  wild  ducks 
were  set  on  the  table,  the  tongues  of  the  party  found  something  to 
do  besides  eating. 

"  We  have  had  a  very  satisfactory  day  among  the  Shakers,  Guy," 
said  Mrs.  Carleton  ;  "  and  we  have  arranged  to  drive  to  Kenton  to 
morrow — I  suppose  you  will  go  with  us  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure,  mother,  but  that  I  am  engaged  to  dinner  about 
five  or  six  miles  in  the  opposite  direction." 

"  Engaged  to  dinner! — what  with  this  old  gentleman  where  you 
went  last  night?  And  you  too,  Mr.  Rossitur?" 

"  I  have  made  no  promise,  ma'am,  but  I  take  it  I  must  go." 

"  Vexatious  !     Is  the  little  gill  going  with  us,  Guy  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  yet — I  half  apprehend,  yes  ;  there  seems  to  be  a 
doubt,  in  her  grandfather's  mind,  not  whether  he  can  let  her  go, 
but  whether  he  can  keep  her,  and  that  looks  like  it." 

"  Is  it  your  little  cousin  who  proved  the  successful  rival  of  the 
woodcock  to-day,  Charlton?"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn.  "  What  is  she?" 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am,  upon  my  word.  I  presume  Carleton 
will  tell  you  she  is  something  uncommon  and  quite  remarkable." 

"Is  she,  Mr.  Carleton?" 

"What,  ma'am?" 

"  Uncommon?" 

"Very." 

"  Come!  That  is  something,  from^w,"  said  Rossitur"  s  brother 
officer,  Lieut.  Thorn. 

"  What's  the  uncommonness  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Thorn,  addressing  her« 
aelf  rather  to  Mr.  Rossitur  as  she  saw  Mr.  Carleton' s  averted  eye; 
— "  Is  she  handsome,  Mr.  Rossitur?" 

"  I  can't  tell  you,  I  am  sure,  ma'am.  I  saw  nothing  but  a  nice 
child  enough  in  a  calico  frock,  just  such  as  one  would  see  in  any 
farm-house.  She  rushed  into  the  room  when  she  was  first  called  to 
see  us,  from  somewhere  in  distant  regions,  with  an  immense  iron 
ladle  a  foot  and  a  half  long  in  her  hand  with  which  she  had  been 
performing  unknown  feats  of  housewifery  ;  and  they  had  left  her 
head  still  encircled  with  a  halo  of  kitchen-smoke.  If  as  they 
say  '  coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before,'  she  was  the  shadow 
of  supper." 

"Oh  Charlton,  Charlton!"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  but  in  a  tone  of 
very  gentle  and  laughing  reproof,—"  for  shame!  What  a  picture! 
and  of  your  cousin!" 


••  Is  she  a  pretty  child,  Guy  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Carleton,  who  did  not 
relish  her  son's  grave  face. 

"No  ma'am*— something  more  than  that." 

"How  old?" 

"  About  ten  or  eleven." 

•'That's  an  ugly  age." 

"  She  will  never  be  at  an  ugly  age." 

"  What  style  of  beauty  ?  " 

"  The  highest — that  degree  of  mould  and  finish  which  belongs 
only  to  the  finest  material." 

"  That  is  hardly  the  kind  of  beauty  one  would  expect  to  see  in 
such  a  place,"  said  Mrs.  Carleton.  "  From  one  side  of  her  family 
to  be  sure  she  has  a  right  to  it." 

"  I  have  seen  very  few  examples  of  it  anywhere,"  said  her  son. 

"  Who  were  her  parents?  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

14  Her  mother  was  Mrs,  Rossitur's  sister, — her  father" — 

"Amy  Charlton  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Evelyn, — "O  I  knew  her  1 
Was  Amy  Charlton  her  mother?  O  I  didn't  know  whom  you  were 
talking  of.  She  was  one  of  my  dearest  friends.  Her  daughter  may 
well  be  handsome — she  was  one  of  the  most  lovely  persons  I  ever 
knew  ;  in  body  and  mind  both.  O  1  loved  Amy  Charlton  very 
much.  I  must  see  this  child." 

"  I  don't  know  who  her  father  was,"  Mrs.  Carleton  went  on. 

"  O  her  father  was  Major  Ringgan,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn.  "  I 
never  saw  him,  but  I  have  heard  him  spoken  of  in  very  high  terms. 
I  always  heard  that  Amy  married  very  well." 

"  Major  Ringgan  !  "  said  Mrs.  Thorn  ; — "  his  name  is  very  well 
known  ;  he  was  very  distinguished." 

"  He  was  a  self-made  man  entirely,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  in  a  tone 
that  conveyed  a  good  deal  more  than  the  simple  fact. 

"  Yes,  he  was  a  self-made  man,"  said  Mrs.  Thorn,  "  but  I  should 
never  think  of  that  where  a  man  distinguishes  himself  so  much  ;  he 
was  very  distingiushed." 

"  Yes,  and  for  more  than  officer-like  qualities,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 
«'  I  have  heard  his  personal  accomplishments  as  a  gentleman  highly- 
praised," 

"  So  that  little  Miss  Ringgan's  right  to  be  a  beauty  may  be  con 
sidered  clearly  made  out,"  said  Mr.  Thorn. 

"  It  is  one  of  those  singular  cases,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  "where 
purity  of  blood  proves  itself,  and  one  has  no  need  to  go  back  to  past 
generations  to  make  any  inquiry  concerning  it." 

"  Hear  him  !  "  cried  Rossitur  ; — "  and  for  the  life  of  me  I  could 
see  nothing  of  all  this  wonder.  Her  face  is  not  at  all  striking." 

"  The  wonder  is  not  so  much  in  what  it  is  as  in  what  it  indicates/* 
said  Mr.  Carleton. 

"  What  does  it  indicate  ? "  said  his  mother. 

"  Suppose  you  were  to  ask  me  io  count  the  shades  of  color  in  a. 
rainbow,"  answered  he. 

"  Hear  him  !."  cried  Thorn  again. 

"  Well  I  hope  she  will  go  with  us  and  we  shall  have  a  chance  of 
seeing  her,"  said  Mrs.  Carleton. 

"  If  she  were  only  a  few  years  older  it  is  my  belief  you  would  set 
enough  of  her,  ma'am,"  said  young  Rossitur. 


The  haughty  coldness  of  Mr.  Carletort's  Wk  at  this  speech  could 
not  be  surpassed. 

"  But  she  has  beauty  of  feature,  too,  has  she  .;ct?  "  Mrs.  Carletou 
asked  again  of  aer  son. 

"  Yes,  in  very  high  degree.  The  contour  of  the  eye  and  brow  I 
never  saw  finer." 

"  It  is  a  little  odd,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  with  the  slightest  touch  oi 
a  piqued  air,  (she  had  some  daughters  at  home) — "that  is  a  kind  of 
beauty  one  is  apt  to  associate  with  high  breeding,  and  certainly  you 
very  rarely  see  it  anywhere  else  ;  and  Major  Ringgan,  however  dis 
tinguished  and  estimable,  as  I  have  no  doubt  he  was, — And  this 
child  must  have  been  brought  up  with  no  advantages,  here  in  the 
country." 

"My  dear  madam,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  smiling  a  little,  "this 
high  breeding  is  a  very  fine  thing,  but  it  can  neither  be  given  nor 
bequeathed  ;  and  we  cannot  entail  it," 

•'  But  it  can  be  taught,  can't  it  ?  " 

"  If  it  could  be  taught  it  is  to  be  hoped  it  would  be  oftener 
.earned,"  said  the  young  man  dryly. 

"  But  what  do  we  mean,  then,  when  we  talk  of  the  high  breeding 
of  certain  classes — and  families  ?  and  why  are  we  not  disappointed 
when  we  look  to  find  it  in  connection  with  certain  names  and  posi 
tions  in  society  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Mr.  Carleton. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say,  I  suppose,  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Thorl 
bridling  a  little,  "  that  it  is  a  thing  independent  of  circumstances, 
and  that  there  is  no  value  in  blood  ?  " 

"  Very  nearly — answering  the  question  as  you  understand  it." 

"  May  I  ask  how  you  understand  it?  " 

"As  you  do,  sir." 

"Is  there  no  high  breeding  then  in  the  world  ?"  asked  good' 
natured  Mrs.  Thorn,  who  could  be  touched  on  this  point  of  family. 

"  There  is  very  little  of  it.  What  is  commonly  current  undet 
the  name  is  merely  counterfeit  notes  which  pass  from  hand  to  hand 
of  those  who  are  bankrupt  in  the  article." 

"And  to  what  serve  then,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  coloring,  "the 
long  lists  of  good  old  names  which  even  you,  Mr.  Carleton,  I  knowt 
do  not  disdain  ?  " 

"  To  endorse  the  counterfeit  notes,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  smiling, 

"Guy  you  are  absurd!"  said  his  mother.  "I  will  not  sit  at 
]he  table  and  listen  to  you  if  you  talk  such  stuff.  What  do  you 
mean?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  mother,  you  have  misunderstood  me,"  said 
he  seriously.  "Mind,  I  have  been  talking,  not  of  ordinary  con 
formity  to  what  the  world  requires,  but  of  that  fine  perfection  of 
mental  and  moral  constitution  which  in  its  own  natural  necessary 
acting  leaves  nothing  to  be  desired,  in  every  occasion  or  circum 
stance  of  life.  It  is  the  pure  gold,  and  it  knows  no  tarnish  ;  it  is 
the  true  coin,  and  it  gives  what  it  proffers  to  give  ;  it  is  the. lining- 
plant  ever-blossoming,  and  not  the  cut  and  art-arranged  flowers. 
It  is  a  thing  of  the  mind  altogether  ;  and  where  nature  has  not 
curiously  prepared  the  soil  it  is  in  vain  to  try  te  make  it  grow  Th& 
it  not  very  often  met  with!  " 


49 

•'No  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Carleton  ; — "but  you  are  so  fastid- 
.ously  nice  in  all  your  notions! — at  this  rate  nothing  will  ever 
satisfy  you." 

"  1  don't  think  it  is  so  very  uncommon,"  said  Mrs.  Thorn.  "  It 
seems  to  me  one  sees  as  much  of  it  as  can  be  expected.  Mr.  Carle* 
ton." 

Mr.  Carleton  pared  his  apple  with  an  engrossed  air. 

"  O  no,  Mrs.  Thorn,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  "  I  don't  agree  with 
you — I  don't  think  you  often  see  such  a  combination  as  Mr.  Carle* 
ton  has  been  speaking  of — very  rarely  ! — but,  Mr.  Carleton,  'don't 
you  think  it  is  generally  found  in  that  class  of  society  where  th( 
.habits  of  life  are  constantly  the  most  polished  and  refined?  " 

"  Possibly,"  answered  he,  diving  into  the  core  of  his  apple. 

"  No,  but  tell  me  ; — I  want  to  know  what  you  think." 

"  Cultivation  and  refinement  have  taught  people  to  recognize  and 
analyze  and  imitate  it  ;  the  counterfeits  are  most  current  in  that 
society, — but  as  to  the  reality  I  don't  know — It  is  nature's  work  and 
she  is  a  little  freaky  about  it." 

"  But  Guy  !  "  said  his  mother  impatiently  ; — "  this  is  not  selling 
but  giving  away  one's  birthright.  Where  is  the  advantage  of  birth 
if  breeding  is  not  supposed  to  go  along  with  it.  Where  the  parents 
have  had  intelligence  and  refinement  do  we  not  constantly  see  them 
inherited  by  the  children?  and  in  an  increasing  degree  from  genera 
tion  to  generation?" 

"  Very  extraordinary  !  "  said  Mrs.  Thorn. 

"I  do  not  undervalue  the  blessings  of  inheritance,  mother,  be 
lieve  me,  nor  deny  the  general  doctrine  ;  though  intelligence  does 
not  always  descend,  and  manners  die  out,  and  that  invaluable 
legacy,  a  name,  may  be  thrown  away.  But  this  delicate  thing  we 
are  speaking  of  is  not  intelligence  nor  refinement,  but  comes  rather 
from  a  happy  combination  of  qualities,  together  with  a  peculiarly 
fine  nervous  constitution  ; — the  essence  of  it  may  consist  with  an 
omission,  even  with  an  awkwardness,  and  with  a  sad  ignorance  of 
conventionalities." 

"  But  even  if  that  be  so,  do  you  think  it  can  ever  reach  its  full 
development  but  in  the  circumstances  that  are  favorable  to  it  ?" 
Said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"  Probably  not  often  ;  the  diamond  in  some  instances  wants  the 
graver;— but  it  is  the  diamond.  Nature  seems  now  and  then  to 
.lave  taken  a  princess's  child  and  dropped  it  in  some  odd  corner  of 
£he  kingdom,  while  she  has  left  the  clown  in  the  palace." 

"From  all  which  I  understand,"  said  Mr.  Thorn,  "that  this 
little  chestnut  girl  is  a  princess  in  disguise." 

"  Really,  Carleton  !  " — Rossitur  began. 

Mrs.  Evelyn  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  quietly  eating  a  piece 
of  apple  eyed  Mr.  Carleton  with  a  look  half  amused  and  half  dis 
contented,  and  behind  all  that,  keenly  attentive. 

"Take  for  example  those  two  miniatures  you  were  looking  at 
?ast  night,  Mrs.  Evelyn,"  the  young  man  went  on  ;  — "  Louis  XVI. 
and  Marie  Antoinette — what  would  you  have  more  unrefined,  more 
heavy,  more  animal*  than  the  face  of  that  descendant  of  *  lane  of 
Maes?" 
4 


80  QUBECBT. 

Mrs.  Evelyn  bowed  her  head  acquiescingly  and  seemed  to  enjoy 
,\er  apple. 

"  He  had  a  pretty  bad  lot  of  an  inheritance  sure  enough,  take  it 
all  together,"  said  Rossitur. 

"  Well,"  said  Thorn, — "is  this  little  stray  princess  as  well-looking 
as  t'other  miniature  ?  " 

"  Better,  in  some  respects,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  coolly. 

"  Better!  "  cried  Mrs.  Carleton. 

"  Not  in  the  brilliancy  of  her  beauty,  but  in  some  of  its  character* 
sties; — better  in  its  promise." 

"  Make  yourself  intelligible,  for  the  sake  of  my  nerves,  Guy,  ' 
*aid  his  mother.  "  Better  looking  than  Marie  Antoinette  !  " 

"My  unhappy  cousin  is  said  to  be  a  fairy,  ma'am,"  said  Mr. 
Rossitur;  "and  I  presume  all  this  may  be  referred  to  enchant 
ment." 

"That  face  of  Marie  Antoinette's,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  smiling, 
"is  an  undisciplined  one— uneducated." 

"Uneducated  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Carleton. 

"  Don't  mistake  me,  mother, — I  do  not  mean  that  it  shows  any 
want  of  reading  or  writing,  but  it  does  indicate  an  untrained  char 
acter — a  mind  unprepared  for  the  exigencies  of  life." 

"She  met  those  exigencies  indifferent  well  too,"  observed  Mr. 
Thorn. 

"  Ay — but  pride,  and  the  dignity  of  rank,  and  undoubtedly  some 
of  the  finer  qualities  of  a  woman's  nature,  might  suffice  for  that 
and  yet  leave  her  utterly  unfitted  to  play  wisely  and  gracefully  a 
part  in  ordinary  life." 

"  Well,  she  had  no  such  part  to  play,"  said  Mrs.  Carleton. 

"Certainly,  mother — but  I  am  comparing  faces." 

-Well— the  other  face?" 

"  It  has  the  same  style  of  refined  beauty  of  feature,  but — to  com 
pare  them  in  a  word,  Marie  Antoinette  looks  to  me  like  a  superb 
exotic  that  has  come  to  its  brilliant  perfection  of  bloom  in  a  hot 
house — it  would  lose  its  beauty  in  the  strong  free  air — it  would 
change  and  droop  if  it  lacked  careful  waiting  upon  and  constant 
artificial  excitement; — the  other,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  musingly, — 
"  is  a  flower  of  the  woods,  raising  its  head  above  frost  and  snow  and 
the  rugged  soil  where  fortune  has  placed  it,  with  an  air  of  quiet 
patient  endurance  ; — a  storm  wind  may  bring  it  to  the  ground, 
gasily, — but  if  its  gentle  nature  be  not  broken,  it  will  look  up  again, 
aachanged,  and  bide  its  time  in  unrequited  beauty  and  sweetness  to 
the  end." 

"The  exotic  for  me  !  "  cried  Rossitur, — "if  I  only  had  a  place 
for  her.  I  don't  like  pale  elegancies." 

"I'd  make  a  piece  of  poetry  of  that  if  I  was  you,  Carleton,"  said 
Mr.  Thorn. 

Mr.  Carleton  has  done  that  already,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  smoothly. 

"  I  never  heard  you  talk  so  before,  Guy,"  said  his  mother  looking 
at  him.  His  eyes  had  grown  dark  with  intensity  of  expression 
while  he  was  speaking,  gazing  at  visionary  flower*  or  beauties 
through  the  dinner-table  mahogany.  He  looked  up  and  laughed 
as  she  addressed  him,  and  rising  turned  off  lightly  **"ih  b» 
•fc, 


••I  congratulate  you,  Mrs.  Carleton,"  Mrs.  Evelyn  whispered  as 
rjley  went  from  the  table,  "  that  this  little  beauty  is  not  a  few  years 
wider." 

"Why?"  said  Mrs.  Carleton.  "  If  she  is  all  that  Guy  says.  I 
would  give  anything  in  the  world  to  see  him  married." 

"Time  enough,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  with  a  knowing  smile. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Carleton, — "I  think  he  would  be 
happier.  He  is  a  restless  spirit — nothing  satisfies  him — nothing 
fixes  him.  He  cannot  rest  at  home — he  abhors  politics — he  flit» 
away  from  country  to  country  and  doesn't  remain  long  anywhere." 

"  And  you  with  him." 

"  And  I  with  him.  I  should  like  to  see  if  a  wife  could  not  per 
suade  him  to  stay  at  home." 

"  I  guess  you  have  petted  him  too  much,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn 
slyly. 

"  I  cannot  have  petted  him  too  much,  for  he  has  never  disap 
pointed  me." 

"  No — of  course  not  ;  but  it  seems  you  find  it  difficult  to  lead 
him." 

"  No  one  ever  succeeded  in  doing  that,"  said  Mrs.  Carleton,  with 
a  smile  that  was  anything  but  an  ungratified  one.  "  He  never 
wanted  driving,  and  \o  lead  him  is  impossible.  You  may  try  it, 
and  while  you  think  you  are  going  to  gain  your  end,  if  he  thinks 
it  worth  while,  you  will  suddenly  find  that  he  is  leading  you.  It  is 
so  with  everybody — in  some  inexplicable  way." 

Mrs.  Evelyn  thought  the  mystery  was  very  easily  explicable  as 
far  as  the  mother  was  concerned  ;  and  changed  the  conversation. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

To  them  life  was  a  simple  art 

Of  duties  to  be  done, 
A  game  where  each  man  took  his  part, 

A  race  where  all  must  run ; 
A  battle  whose  great  scheme  and  scope 

They  little  cared  to  know, 
Content,  as  men-at-arms,  to  cope 

Each  with  his  fronting  foe. 

MILNB& 

ON  so  great  and  uncommon  an  occasion  as  Mr.  Ringgan's  giving 
a  dinner-party  the  disused  front  parlor  was  opened  and  set  in 
order  ;  the  women-folks,  as  he  called  them,  wanting  the  whole 
back  part  of  the  house  for  their  operations.  So  when  the  visitors 
arrived,  in  good  time,  they  were  ushered  into  a  large  square  bare- 
looking  room— a  strong  contrast  even  to  their  dining-room  at  the 
Pool — which  gave  them  nothing  of  the  welcome  of  the  pleasant 
farm-house  kitchen,  and  where  nothing  of  the  comfort  of  the 
kitchen  found  its  way  but  a  very  strong  smell  of  roast  pig.  There 
was  the  cheerless  air  of  a  place  where  nobody  lives,  or  thinks  of 
living.  The  very  chairs  looked  as  if  they  had  made  up  their  minds 
to  be  forsaken  for  a  term  of  months  ;  it  was  impossible  to  imagine 
a  cheerful  supper  had  ever  been  laid  upon  the  stiff  cold-look- 


ing  table  that  stood  with  its  leaves  down  so  piirnt,.  against  the  wall 
All  that  a  blazing  fire  could  do  to  make  amends  for  deficiencies,  it 
did  ;  but  the  wintry  wind  that  swept  round  the  house  shook  the 
paper  window-shades  in  a  remorseless  way  ;  and  the  utmost  efforts 
of  said  fire  could  not  prevent  it  from  coming  in  and  giving  disagree 
able  impertinent  whispers  at  the  ears  of  everybody. 

Mr.  Ringgan's  welcome  however,  was.  and  would  have  been  the 
same  thing  anywhere — genial,  frank,  and  dignified  ;  neither  he  nor 
it  could  be  changed  by  circumstances.  Mr.  Carleton  admired 
anew,  as  he  came  forward,  the  fine  presence  and  noble  look  of  his 
old  host  ;  a  look  th?.t  it  was  plain  had  never  needed  to  seek  the 
ground  ;  a  brow  that  in  large  or  small  things  had  never  been 
crossed  by  a  shadow  of  shame.  And  to  a  discerning  eye  the  face 
was  not  a  surer  index  of  a  lofty  than  of  a  peaceful  and  pure 
mind  ;  too  peace-loving  and  pure  perhaps  for  the  best  good  of  his 
affairs  in  the  conflict  with  a  selfish  and  unscrupulous  world.  At 
least  now,  in  the  time  of  his  old  age  and  infirmity  ;  in  former  days 
his  straightforward  wisdom  backed  by  an  indomitable  courage  and 
strength  had  made  Mr.  Ringgan  no  safe  subject  for  either  braving 
or  overreaching. 

Fleda's  keen-sighted  affection  was  heartily  gratified  by  the  man 
ner  in  which  her  grandfather  was  greeted  by  at  least  one  of  his 
guests,  and  that  the  one  about  whose  opinion  she  cared  the  most. 
Mr.  Carleton  seemed  as  little  sensible  of  the  cold  room  as  Mr.  Ring 
gan  himself..  Fleda  felt  sure  that  her  grandfather  was  appreciated  ; 
and  she  would  have  sat  delightedly  listening  to  what  the  one  and 
the  other  were  presently  saying,  if  she  had  not  taken  notice  that 
her  cousin  looked  astray.  He  was  eyeing  the  fire  with  a  profound 
air  and  she  fancied  he  thought  it  poor  amusement.  Little  as  Fleda 
in  secret  really  cared  about  that,  with  an  instant  sacrifice  of  her 
own  pleasure  she  quietly  changed  her  position  for  one  from  which 
she  could  more  readiiy  bring  to  bear  upon^Mr.  Rossitur's  distrac 
tion  the  very  light  artillery  of  her  conversation  ;  and  attacked 
him  on  the  subject  of  tihe  game  he  had  brought  home.  Her  motive 
and  her  manner  both  must  have  been  lost  upon  the  young  gentle 
man.  He  forthwith  yet  about  amusing  himself  in  a  way  his  little 
entertainer  had  not  counted  upon,  namely,  with  giving  a  chase  to 
her  wits  ;  partly  to  pass  away  the  time,  and  partly  to  gratify  his 
curiosity,  as  he  said,  '•  to  see  what  Fleda  was  made  of."  By  a 
curious  system  of  involved,  startling,  or  absurd  questions,  he  en= 
ieavored  to  puzzle  or  confound  or  entrap  her.  Fleda  however 
steadily  presented  a  grave  front  to  the  enemy,  and  would  every  now 
and  then  surprise  him  with  an  unexpected  turn  or  clever  doubling, 
and  sometimes  when  he  thought  he  had  her  in  a  corner,  jump  over 
the  fence  and  laugh  at  nim  from  the  other  side.  Mr.  Rossitur's  re 
spect  for  his  little  advwrsary  gradually  increased,  and  finding  that 
she  had  rather  the  besv.  of  the  game  he  at  last  gave  it  up,  just  as 
Mr.  Ringgan  was  asking  .Mr.  Carleton  if  he  was  a  judge  of  stock  ? 
Mr.  Cavleton  saying  with  a  smile  "  No,  but  he  hoped  Mr.  Ringgan 
would  give  him  his  firsl  lesson," — the  old  gentleman  immediately 
arose  with  tha*  alacrity  of  manner  he  always  wore  when  he  had  a 
visitor  that  pleased  him,  and  taking  his  hat  and  cane-led  the  way 
tat ;  choosing,  with  &  man's  true  carelessness  of  house-wife  17  eti« 


QUEECHY.  58 

quette,  the  kitchen  route,  of  all  others.  Not  even  admonished  by 
the  sight  of  the  bright  Dutch  oven  before  the  fire  that  he  was  intro 
ducing  his  visitors  somewhat  too  early  to  the  pig,  he  led  the  wholt 
party  through,  Cynthia  scuttling  away  in  haste  across  the  kitchen 
with  something  that  must  not  be  seen,  while  aunt  Miriam  looked 
out  at  the  company  through  the  crack  of  the  pantry  door,  at  which 
Fleda  ventured  a  sly  glance  of  intelligence. 

It  was  a  fine  though  a  windy  and  cold  afternoon  ;  the  lights  and 
shadows  were  driving  across  the  broad  upland  and  meadows. 

'  This  is  a  fine  arable  country,"  remarked  Mr.  Carleton. 

14  Capital,  sir, — capital,  for  many  miles  round,  if  we  were  not  s< 
far  from  a  market.  I  was  one  of  the  first  that  broke  ground  in 
this  township, — one  of  the  very  first  settlers — I've  seen  the  rough 
and  the  smooth  of  it»  and  I  never  had  but  one  mind  about  it  from 
the  first.  All  this — as  far  as  you  can  see — I  cleared  myself ;  most 
of  it  with  my  own  hand." 

"  That  recollection  must  attach  you  strongly  to  the  place,  I  should 
think,  sir." 

"  Hum— perhaps  I  cared  too  much  for  it,"  he  replied,  "for  it  is 
taken  away  from  me.  Well — it  don't  matter  now." 

"  It  is  not  yours?  " 

"  Nor  sir  ! — it  was  mine,  a  great  many  years  ;  but  I  was  obliged 
to  part  with  it,  two  years  ago,  to  a  scoundrel  of  a  fellow — McGowan 
up  here — he  got  an  advantage  over  me.  I  oan't  take  care  of  my 
self  any  more  as  I  used  to  do,  and  I  don't  find  that  other  people 
deal  by  me  just  as  I  could  wish — " 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment  and  then  went  on, — 

"  Yes  sir!  when  I  first  set  myself  down  here,  or  a  little  further 
that  way  my  first  house  was, --a  pretty  rough  house  too, — there 
wa'n't  two  settlers  beside  within  something  like  ten  miles  round. — • 
I've  seen  the  whole  of  it  cleared,  from  the  cutting  of  the  first  forest 
trees  till  this  day." 

'•  You  have  seen  the  nation  itself  spring  up  within  that  time,"  re 
marked  his  guest. 

"  Not  exactly— that  question  of  our  nationality  was  settled  a  lit 
tle  before  I  came  here.  I  was  born  rather  too  late  to  see  the  whole 
of  that  play — I  saw  the  best  of  it  though— boys  were  men  in  those 
iays.  My  father  was  in  the  thick  of  it  from  the  beginning  to  end." 

"  In  the  army,  was  he  ?  " 

<J  Ho  yes,  sir!  he  and  every  child  he  had  that  wasn't  a  girl- 
there  wasn't  a  man  of  the  name  that  wa'n't  on  the  right  side.  I 
was  in  the  army  myself  when  I  was  fifteen.  I  was  nothing  but  a 
fifer — but  I  tell  you  sir  !  there  wasn't  a  general  officer  in  the  country 
that  played  his  part  with  a  prouder  heart  than  I  did  mine  !  " 

"  And  was  that  the  general  spirit  of  the  ranks  ?  " 

"Not  altogether,"  replied  the  old  gentleman,  passing  his  hand 
several  times  abstractedly  over  his  white  hair,  a  favorite  gesture 
with  him, — "  not  exactly  that — there  was  a  good  deal  of  mixture 
of  different  materials,  especially  in  this  state  ;  and  where  the  feel 
ing  vasn't  pretty  strong  it  wa's  no  wonder  if  it  got  tired  out ;  but 
the  re;u  stuff,  the  true  Yankee  blood,  was  pretty  firm  !  Ay,  and 
seme  of  the  rest !  There  was  a  good  deal  to  try  men  in  those  days. 
Sir,  I  aave  seen  many  a  time  when  I  had  nothing  to  dine  upon  but 


64  QUEECffr. 

my  fife,  and  it  was  more  than  that  could  do  to  keep  me  from  feeling 
very  empty  !  " 

•'  But  was  this  a  common  case  ?  did  this  happen  often  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Carleton. 

"  Pretty  often — pretty  often,  sometimes,"  answered  the  old  gentle 
man.  "Things  were  very  much  out  of  order,  you  see,  and  in 
some  parts  of  the  country  it  was  almost  impossible  to  get  the  sup 
plies  the  men  needed.  Nothing  would  have  kept  them  together, 
—nothing  under  heaven — but  the  love  and  confidence  they  had  ir 
one  name.  Their  love  of  right  and  independence  wouldn't  have 
been  strong  enough,  and  besides  a  good  many  of  them  got  die* 
heartened.  A  hungry  stomach  is  a  pretty  stout  arguer  against  ab 
stract  questions.  I  have  seen  my  father  crying  like  a  child  for  the 
wants  and  sufferings  he  was  obliged  to  see  and  couldn't  relieve." 

"And  then  you  used  to  relieve  yourselves,  grandpa,"  said  Fleda. 

"  How  was  that,  Fairy  ?  " 

Fleda  looked  at  her  grandfather,  who  gave  a  little  preparatory 
laugh  and  passed  his  hand  over  his  head  again. 

"Why  yes,"  said  he, — "we  used  to  think  the  tories,  King 
George's  men  you  know,  were  fair  game  ;  and  when  we  happened 
to  be  in  the  neighborhood  of  some  of  them  that  we  knew  were 
giving  all  the  help  they  could  to  the  enemy,  we  used  to  let  them 
cook  our  dinners  for  us  once  in  a  while." 

"  How  did  you  manage  that,  sir?  " 

"  Why,  they  used  to  have  little  bake-ovens  to  cook  their  meats 
and  so  on,  standing  some  way  out  from  the  house, — did  you  never 
see  one  of  them  ? — raised  on  four  little  heaps  of  stone  ;  the  bottom 
of  the  oven  is  one  large  flat  stone,  and  the  arch  built  over  it ; — they 
look  like  a  great  bee-hive.  Well — we  used  to  watch  till  we  saw  the 
good  woman  of  the  house  get  her  oven  cleverly  heated,  and  put 
in  her  batch  of  bread,  or  her  meat  pie,  or  her  pumpkin  and  apple 
pies  ! — whichever  it  was — there  didn't  any  of  'em  come  much  amiss 
— and  when  we  guessed  they  were  pretty  nigh  done,  three  or  four 
of  us  would  creep  in  and  whip  off  the  whole — oven  and  all ! — to  a 
safe  place.  I  tell  you,"  said  he  with  a  knowing  nod  of  his  head  at 
the  laughing  Fleda, — "those  were  first-rate  pies!  " 

"  And  then  did  you  put  the  oven  back  again  afterward,  grandpa  ?  " 

•*  I  guess  not  often,  dear!  "  replied  the  old  gentleman. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  such  lawless  proceedings,  Miss  Fleda?  "' 
said  Mr.  Carleton,  laughing  at  or  with  her. 

"  O  I  like  it,"  said  Fleda.  "  You  liked  those  pies  all  the  better, 
didn't  you,  grandpa,  because  you  had  got  them  from  the  tories?  " 

•'That  we  did!  If  we  hadn't  got  them  maybe  King  George's 
men  would,  in  some  shape.  But  we  weren't  always  so  lucky  as  to 
as  to  get  hold  of  an  oven  full.  I  remember  one  time  several  of  us 

had  been  out  on  a  foraging  expedition there,  sir,  what  do  you 

think  of  that  for  a  two  and  a  half  year  old  ?  " 

They  had  come  up  with  the  chief  favorite  of  his  barn-yard,  a 
fine  deep-colored  Devon  bull. 

"  I  don't  know  what  one  might  see  in  Devonshire,"  he  remarked 
presently,  "  but  I  know  this  county  can't  shew  the  like  of  him  !  " 

A  discussion  followed  oi  tile  various  beauties  and  excellencies  of 
the  animal ;  a  discussion  in  which  Mr.  Carleton  certainly  took  little 


QUEECHY.  55 

part,  while  Mr.  Ringgan  descanted  enthusiastically  upon  •  hide  '  and 
•brisket,'  and  'bone,'  and  Rossitur  stood  in  an  abstraction,  it  might 
be  scornful,  it  might  be  mazed.  Little  Fleda.  quietly  listening  and 
looking  at  the  beautiful  creature,  which  from  being  such  a  treasure  to 
her  grandfather  was  in  a  sort  one  to  her,  more  than  half  understood 
them  all  ;  but  M"  Ringgan  was  too  well  satisfied  with  the  attention 
of  one  of  his  gue-»cs  to  miss  that  of  the  other. 

"That  fellow  don't  look  as  if  he  had  ever  known  short  commons," 
ivas  Rossitur' s  single  remark  as  they  turned  away. 

"  You  did  not  give  us  the  result  of  your  foraging  expedition,  sir,  ' 
)aid  Mr.   Carleton  in  a  different  manner. 
"  Do,  grandpa,"  said  Fleda  softly. 

41  Ha  ! — Oh  it  is  not  worth  telling,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  look 
ing  gratified  ; — "  Fleda  has  heard  my  stories  till  she  knows  them  by 
heart — she  could  tell  it  as  well  herself.  What  was  it  ? — about  the 
pig  ? — We  had  been  out,  several  of  us,  one  afternoon  to  try  to  get 
up  a  supper — or  a  dinner,  for  we  had  had  none — and  we  had  caught 
a  pig.  It  happened  that  I  was  the  only  one  of  the  party  that  had  a 
cloak,  and  so  the  pig  was  given  to  me  to  carry  home,  because  I 
could  hide  it  the  best.  Well  sir! — we  were  coming  home,  and  had 
set  our  mouths  for  a  prime  supper,  when  just  as  we  were  within  a 
few  rods  of  our  shanty  who  should  come  along  but  our  captain  ! 
My  heart  sank  as  it  never  has  done  at  the  thought  of  a  supper  be 
fore  or  since,  I  believe  !  I  held  my  cloak  together  as  well  as  I 
could,  and  kept  myself  back  a  little,  so  that  if  the  pig  shewed  a 
cloven  foot  behind  me,  the  captain  might  not  see  it.  But  I  almost 
gave  up  all  for  lost  when  I  saw  the  captain  going  into  the  hut 
vrith  us.  There  was  a  kind  of  a  rude  bedstead  standing  there; 
and  I  set  myself  down  upon  the  side  of  it,  and  gently  worked  and 
eased  my  pig  off  under  my  cloak  till  I  got  him  to  roll  down  behind 
the  bed.  I  knew,"  said  Mr.  Ringgan  laughing,  "  I  knew  by  the 
captain's  eye  as  well  as  I  knCw  anything,  that  he  smelt  a  rat ;  but 
he  kept  our  counsel,  as  well  as  his  own  ;  and  when  he  was  gone  we 
took  the  pig  out  into  the  woods  behind  the  shanty  and  roasted  him 
finely,  and  we  sent  and  asked  Capt.  Sears  to  supper  ;  and  he  came 
and  helped  us  eat  the  pig  with  a  great  deal  of  appetite,  and  never 
asked  no  questions  how  we  came  by  him  !  " 

"  I  wonder  your  stout-heartedness  did  not  fail,  in  the  course  of  so 
long  a  time,"  said  Mr.  Carleton. 

"  Never  sir  !  "  said  the  old  gentleman.     "  I  never  doubted  for 
a  moment  what  the  end  would  be.     My  father  never  doubted  for  a 
moment.     We  trusted  in  God  and  in  Washington  !  " 
"  Did  you  see  actual  service  yourself?" 

"  No  sir— I  never  did.  I  wish  I  had.  I  should  like  to  have  had 
the  honor  of  striking  one  blow  at  the  rascals.  However  they  were 
hit  pretty  well.  I  ought  to  be  contented.  My  father  saw  enough 
of  fighting — he  was  colonel  of  a  regiment — he  was  at  the  affair  erf 
Burgoyne.  That  gave  us  a  lift  in  good  time.  What  rejoicing  there 
was  everywhere  when  that  news  came  !  I  could  have  fifed  all  day 
upon  an  empty  stomach  and  felt  satisfied.  People  reckoned  every 
where  that  the  matter  was  settled  when  that  great  piece  of  good 
fortune  was  given  us.  And  so  it !— wa'n't  it,  dear  ?  "  said  the  ol4 


6*  QUEECHY. 

gentleman,  with  one  of  those  fond,  pleased,  sympathetic  looks  to 
Fleda  with  which  he  often  brought  up  what  he  was  saying. 

"General  Gates  commanded  there?  "  said  Mr.  Carleton. 

"  Yes  sir — Gates  was  a  poor  stick — I  never  thought  much  of  him. 
That  fellow  Arnold  distinguished  himself  in  the  actions  before  Bur- 
goyne's  surrender.  He  fought  like  a  brave  man.  It  seems  strange 
that  so  mean  a  scamp  should  have  had  so  much  blood  in  him  ?  " 

"Why,  are  great  fighters  generally  good  men,  grandpas  "  said 
Fleda. 

"  Not  exactly,  dear  !  *'  replied  her  grandfather  ; — "  but  such  little 
minded  rascality  is  not  just  the  vice  one  would  expect  to  find  in  r 
gallant  soldier." 

"  Those  were  times  that  made  men,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  musingly. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  old  gentleman  gravely, — "  they  were  times 
that  called  for  men,  and  God  raised  them  up.  But  Washington 
was  the  soul  of  the  country,  sir !  " 

"  Well,  the  time  made  him,"  said  Mr.  Carleton. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  old  gentleman  with  a  very  decided 
little  turn  of  his  head, — "  I  think  he  made  the  time.  I  don't  know 
what  it  would  have  been,  sir,  or  what  it  would  have  come  to,  but 
for  him.  After  all,  it  is  rather  that  the  things  which  try  people  show 
what  is  in  them  ; — I  hope  there  are  men  enough  in  the  country  yet, 
though  they  haven't  as  good  a  chance  to  show  what  they  are." 

"  Either  way,"  said  his  guest  smiling  ;  "  it  is  a  happiness,  Mr. 
Ringgan,  to  have  lived  at  a  time  when  there  was  something  worth 
living  for." 

"  Well — I  don't  know — "  said  the  old  gentleman  ; — "  those  times 
would  make  the  prettiest  figure  in  a  story  or  a  ro'mance,  I  suppose  ; 
but  I've  tried  both,  on  the  whole,"  said  he  with  another  of  his  looks 
at  Fleda,—"  I  think  I  like  these  times  the  best !  " 

Fleda  smiled  her  acquiescence.  His  guest  could  not  help  think- 
ing  to  himself  that  however  pacific  might  be  Mr.  Ringgan 's  temper, 
no  man  in  those  days  that  tried  men  could  have  brought  to  the  issue 
more  stern  inflexibility  and  gallant  fortitude  of  bearing.  Hi?  frame 
bore  evidence  of  great  personal  strength,  and  his  eye,  with  all  its 
mildness,  had  an  unflinching  dignity  that  could  never  have  quailed 
before  danger  or  duty.  And  now,  while  he  was  recalling  with  great 
animation  and  pleasure  the  scenes  of  his  more  active  life,  and  his 
blue  eye  was  shining  with  the  fire  of  other  days,  his  mannei.  had 
the  self-possession  and  quiet  sedateness  of  triumph  that  bespeak  a 
yman  always  more  ready  to  do  than  to  say.  Perhaps  the  contem 
plation  of  the  noble  Roman-like  old  figure  before  him  did  not  tend 
to  lessen  the  feeling,  even  the  sigh  of  regret,  with  which  the  young 
man  said, 

"  There  was  something  then  for  man  to  do !  " 

"There  is  always  that,"  said  the  old  gentleman  quietly.  "  God 
has  given  every  man  his  work  to  do  ;  and  'tain't  difficult  for  him  tc 
find  out  what.  No  man  is  put  here  to  be  idle." 

"But,"  said  his  companion,  with  a  look  in  which  not  a  little 
haughty  reserve  was  mingled  with  a  desire  to  speak  out  his  though**, 

half  the  world  are  busy  about  hum-drum  concerns  and  the  other 


half  d,>:ng  nothing,  or  worse." 
"I  don't  know  about  that." 


said  Mr.  Ringgan  ; — "  that  depeMs 


QUEECffit.  BT 

upon  the  way  you  take  things.  'Tain't  always  the  men  that  make 
the  most  noise  that  are  the  most  good  in  the  world.  Hum-drum 
affairs  needn't  be  hum-drum  in  the  doing  of  'em.  It  is  my  maxim," 
said  the  old  gentleman  looking  at  his  companion  with  a  singularly 
open  pleasant  smile, — "  that  a  man  may  be  great  about  a'most  any 
thing — chopping  wood,  if  he  happens  to  be  in  that  line.  I  used  to 
go  upon  that  plan,  sir.  Whatever  I  have  set  my  hand  to  do,  I  have 
done  it  as  well  as  I  knew  how  to ;  and  if  you  follow  that  rule  out 
you'll  not  be  idle,  nor  hum-drum  neither.  Many's  the  time  that  I 
have  mowed  what  would  be  a  day's  work  for  another  man,  before 
areakfast." 

Rossitur's  smile  was'  not"  meant  to  be  seen.  But  Mr.  Carleton' s, 
io  the  credit  of  his  politeness  and  his  understanding  both,  was  frank 
as  the  old  gentleman's  own,  as  he  answered  with  a  good-humored 
shake  of  his  head, 

"  I  can  readily  believe  it,  sir,  and  honor  both  your  maxim  and 
your  practice.  But  I  am  not  exactly  in  that  line." 

"  Why  don't  you  try  the  army  ?  "  said  Mr.  Ringgan  with  a  look 
of  interest. 

"There  is  not  a  cause  worth  fighting  for/'  said  the  young  man, 
his  brow  changing  again.  "  It  is  only  to  add  weight  to  the  oppress 
or's  hand,  or  throw  away  life  in  the  vain  endeavor  to  avert  it.  I 
will  do  neither." 

"But  all  the  world  is  open  before  such  a  young  man  as  you," 
said  Mr.  Ringgan. 

"  A  large  world,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  with  his  former  mixture  of 
expression, — "  but  there  isn't  much  in  it." 

"  Politics  ?  "  said  Mr.  Ringgan. 

"It  is  to  lose  oneself  in  a  seething-pot,  where  the  scum  is  the 
most  apparent  thing." 

"  But  there  is  society  ?  "  said  Rossitur. 

"  Nothing  better  or  more  noble  than  the  succession  of  motes  that 
flit  through  a  sunbeam  into  oblivion." 

"  Well,  why  not  then  sit  down  quietly  on  one's  estates  and  enjoy 
them,  one  who  has  enough  ?  " 

"And  be  a  worm  in  the  heart  of  an  apple." 

''Well  then,  '  said  Rossitur  laughing,  though  not  knowing  exactly 
how  far  he  might  venture,  "  there  is  nothing  left  for  you,  as,  I  don't 
suppose  >  ou  would  take  to  any  of  the  learned  professions,  but  to  strike 
out  some  new  path  for  yourself — hit  upon  some  grand  invention  for 
benefiting  the  human  race  and  distinguishing  you  own  name  at 
once." 

But  while  he  spoke  his  companion's  face  had  gone  back  to  its 
usual  look  of  imperturbable  coolness  ;  the  dark  eye  was  even 
haughtily  unmoved,  till  it  met  Fleda's  inquiringly  and  somewhat 
anxious  glance.  He  smiled. 

"The  nearest  approach  I  ever  made  to  that,"  said  he,  "was 
when  I  went  chestnuting  the  other  day.  Can't  you  find  some  more 
work  for  me,  Fairy  ?  " 

Taking  Fleda's  hand  with  his  wonted  graceful  lightness  of  man 
ner  he  walked  on  with  her,  leaving  the  other  two  to  follow  together. 

"  You  would  like  to  know,  perhaps,"  observed  Mr.  Rossitur  in 
rather  a  low  tone, — «« that  Mr.  Carleton  is  an  Englishman." 


88 

"  Ay,  ay  ?  '   said  Mr,  Ringgan.      • '  An  Englishman,  is  he  ?- 
Well  sir,— what  is  it  that  I  would  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  That"  said  Rossitur.  "I  would  have  told  you  before  if  I  could 
I  supposed  you  might  not  choose  to  speak  quite  so  freely,  perhaps, 
on  American  affairs  before  him." 

"  I  haven't  two  ways  of  speaking,  sir,  on  anything,"  said  the  old 
gentleman  a  little  dryly.  "  Is  your  friend  very  tender  on  that 
chapter?  " 

"  O  not  that  I  know  of  at  all,"  said  Rossitur  ;  "but  *you  know 
'ihere  is  a  great  deal  of  feeling  still  among  the  English  about  it — 
they  have  never  forgiven  us  heartily  for  whipping  them  ;  and  1* 
know  Carleton  is  related  to  the  nobility  and  all  that,  you  know  ;  so 
I  thought — " 

"Ah  well!  "  said  the  old  gentleman, — "we  don't  know  much 
about  nobility  and  such  gimcracks  in  this  country.  I'm  not  much 
of  a  courtier.  I  am  pretty  much  accustomed  to  speak  my  mind  as 
I  think  it. — He's  wealthy,  I  suppose?" 

"  He's  more  than  that,  sir.  Enormous  estates!  He's  the  finest 
fellow  in  the  world — one  of  the  first  young  men  in  England." 

"  You  have  been  there  yourself  and  know  ?  "  said  Mr.  Ringgan, 
glancing  at  his  companion. 

"  If  I  have  not,  sir,  others  have  told  me  that  do." 

"Ah  well,"  said  Mr.  Ringgan  placidly, — "we  sha' n't  quarrel,  I 
guess.  What  did  he  come  out  here  for,  eh  ?  " 

"  Only  to  amuse  himself.  They  are  going  back  again  in  a  few 
weeks,  and  I  intend  accompanying  them  to  join  my  mother  in 
Paris.  Will  my  little  cousin  be  of  the  party  ? " 

They  were  sauntering  along  toward  the  house.  A  loud  calling 
of  her  name  the  minute  before  had  summoned  Fleda  thither  at  the 
top  of  her  speed  ;  and  Mr.  Carleton  turned  to  repeat  the  same 
question. 

The  old  gentleman  stopped,  and  striking  his  stick  two  or  three 
times  against  the  ground  looked  sorrowfully  undetermined. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  ! — "  he  said  at  last, — "  It's  a  pretty  hard 
matter — she'd  break  her  heart  about  it,  I  suppose, — ' 

"I  dare  urge  nothing,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Carleton.  "  I  will  only  as 
sure  you  that  if  you  entrust  your  treasure  to  us  she  shall  be 
cherished  as  you  would  wish,  till  we  place  her  in  the  hands  of  her 
aunt." 

"  I  know  that,  sir, — I  do  not  doubt  it,"  said  Mr.  Ringgan,  "  but 
—I'll  tell  you  by  and  by  what  I  conclude  upon,"  he  said  with 
evident  relief  of  manner  as  Fleda  came  bounding  back  to  them. 
••  Mr.  Rossitur,  have  you  made  your  peace  with  Fleda?  " 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  I  had  any  to  make,  sir,"  replied  the  young 
gentleman.  "  I  will  do  it  with  pleasure  if  my  little  cousin  will  tell 
me  how.  But  she  looks  as  if  she  needed  enlightening  as  much  as 
myself." 

"  She  has  something  against  you,  I  can  tell  you,"  said  the  old 
gentleman,  looking  amused,  and  speaking  as  if  Fleda  were  a  cur 
ious  little  piece  of  human  mechanism  which  could  hear  its  perform 
ances  talked  of  with  all  the  insensibility  of  any  other  toy.  "  She 
gives  it  as  her  judgment  *hat  Mr.  Carleton  is  the  mpst  of  a  gentle 
man,  because  he  keeps  his  promises." 


QUEECHY.  fy 

•'  Oh  grandpa  !  " — 

Poor  Fleda's  cheek  was  hot  with  a  distressful  blush.  Rossitur 
colored  with  anger.  Mr.  Carleton's  smile  had  a  very  different  ex 
pression. 

"  If  Fleda  will  have  the  goodness  to  recollect,"  said  Rossitur,  "  I 
cannot  be  charged  with  breaking  a  promise  for  I  made  none." 

"  But  Mr.  Carleton  did,"  said  Fleda. 

"She  is  right,  Mr.  Rossitur,  she  is  right,"  said  that  gentleman ; 
"  a  fallacy  might  as  well  elude  Ithuriel's  spear  as  the  sense  of  a 
yure  spirit — there  is  no  need  of  written  codes.  Make  your  apologies 
fnan,  and  confess  yourself  in  the  wrong." 

"  Pho,  pho,"  said  the  old  gentleman, — "  she  don't  take  it  very 
much  to  heart.  I  guess  /  ought  to  be  the  one  to  make  the  apol 
ogies,"  he  added,  locking  at  Fleda's  face. 

But  Fleda  commanded  herself,  with  difficulty,  and  announced 
that  dinner  was  ready.  » 

"  Mr.  Rossitur  tells  me,  Mr.  Carleton,  you  are  an  Englishman/' 
said  his  host.  "  I  have  some  notion  of  that's  passing  through  my 
head  before,  but  somehow  I  had  entirely  lost  sight  of  it  when  I  was 
speaking  so  freely  to  you  a  little  while  ago — about  our  national 
quarrel — I  know  some  of  your  countrymen  owe  us  a  grudge  yet." 

"Not  I,  I  assure  you,"  said  the  young  Englishman.  "I  am 
ashamed  of  them  for  it.  I  congratulate  you  on  being  Washington's 
countryman  and  a  sharer  in  his  grand  struggle  for  the  right  against 
the  wrong." 

Mr.  Ringgan  shook  his  guest's  hand,  looking  very  much  pleased  ; 
and  having  by  this  time  arrived  at  the  house  the  young  gentlemen 
were  formally  introduced  at  once  to  the  kitchen,  their  dinner,  and 
aunt  Miriam. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the  entertainment  gave  perfect  sat 
isfaction  to  everybody — better  fate  than  attends  most  entertain 
ments.  Even  Mr.  Rossitur's  ruffled  spirit  felt  the  soothing  influence 
of  good  cheer,  to  whiah  he  happened  to  be  peculiarly  sensible,  and 
came  back  to  its  average  condition  of  amenity. 

Doubtless  that  was  a  most  informal  table,  spread  according  to  no 
rules  that  for  many  generations  at  least  have  been  known  in  the  re 
fined  world  ;  an  anomaly  in  the  eyes  of  certainly  one  of  the  com* 
pany.  Yet  the  board  had  a  character  of  its  own,  very  far  removed 
from  vulgarity,  and  suiting  remarkably  well  with  the  condition  and 
demeanor  of  those  who  presided  over  it — a  comfortable,  well-to-do, 
substantial  look,  that  could  afford  to  dispense  with  minor  graces ;  a 
self-respect  that  was  not  afraid  of  criticism.  Aunt  Miriam's  success 
ful  efforts  deserve  to  be  celebrated. 

In  the  middle  of  the  table  the  polished  amber  oi  the  pig's  arched 
back  elevated  itself, — a  striking  object,— but  worthy  of  the  place  he 
filled,  as  the  honors  paid  him  by  everybody  abundantly  testified. 
Aunt  Miriam  had  sent  down  a  basket  of  her  own  bread,  made  out 
of  the  new  flour,  brown  and  white,  both  as  sweet  and  fine  as  it  is 
possible  for  bread  to  be  ;  the  piled-up  slices  were  really  beautiful. 
The  superb  butter  had  come  from  aunt  Miriam's  dairy  too,  for  on 
such  an  occasion  she  would  not  trust  to  the  very  doubtful  excejlence 
of  Miss  Cynthia's  doings.  Every  spare  place  on  the  table  was 
filled  with  dishes  of  potatoes  and  pickles  and  sweetmeats,  that  left 


60  qUEECHT, 

nothing  to  be  desilred  in  their  respective  kinds  ;  the  cake  was  a  de 
licious  presentment  of  the  finest  of  material  ;  and  the  pies,  pump* 
kin  pies,  such  as  only  aunt  Miriam  could  make,  rich  compounds  of 
everything  but  pumpkin  with  enough  of  that  to  give  them  a  name— 
Fleda  smiled  to  think  how  pleased  aunt  Miriam  must  secretly  be  to 
see  the  homage  paid  her  through  them.  And  most  happily  Mrs. 
Plumfield  had  discovered  that  the  last  tea  Mr.  Ringgan  had  brought 
from  th,e  little  Queechy  store  was  not  very  good,  and  there  was  ne 
time  to  send  up  on  "  the  hill "  for  more,  so  she  made  coffee.  Verily 
k  was  not  Mocha,  but  the  thick  yellow  cream  with  which  the  cups 
were  filled  really  made  up  the  difference.  The  most  curious  palate 
found  no  want. 

Everybody  was  in  a  high  state  of  satisfaction,  even  to  Miss 
Cynthia  Gall ;  who  having  some  lurking  suspicion  that  Mrs.  Plum- 
field  might  design  to  cut  her  out  of  her  post  of  tea-making,  had 
slipped  herself  into  her  usual  chair  behind  the  tea-tray  before  any 
body  else  was  ready  to  sit  down.  No  one  at  table  bestowed  a 
thought  upon  Miss  Cynthia,  but  as  she  thought  of  nothing  else  she 
may  be  said  to  have  had  her  fair  share  of  attention.  The  most  un 
qualified  satisfaction  however  was  no  doubt  little  Fleda' s.  For 
getting  with  a  child's  happy  readiness  the  fears  and  doubts  which 
had  lately  troubled  her,  she  was  full  of  the  present,  enjoying  with  a 
most  unselfish  enjoyment  everything  that  pleased  anybody  else. 
She  was  glad  that  the  supper  was  a  fine  one,  and  so  approved,  be- 
cuuse  it  was  her  grandfather's  hospitality  and  her  aunt  Miriam's 
house-keeping  ;  little  beside  was  her  care  for  pies  or  coffee.  She 
saw  with  secret  glee  the  expression  of  both  her  aunt's  and  Mr. 
Ringgan's  face  ;  partly  from  pure  sympathy,  and  partly  because, 
as  she  knew,  the  cause  of  it  was  Mr.  Carleton,  whom  privately  Fleda 
liked  very  much.  And  after  all  perhaps  he  had  directly  more  to 
do  with  her  enjoyment  than  all  other  causes  together. 

Certainly  that  was  true  of  him  with  respect  to  the  rest  of  the  din 
ner-table.  None  at  that  dinner-table  had  ever  seen  the  like.  With 
all  the  graceful  charm  of  manner  with  which  he  would  have  de 
lighted  a  courtly  circle,  he  came  out  from  his  reserve  and  was 
brilliant,  gay,  sensible,  entertaining,  and  witty,  to  a  degree  that 
assuredly  has  very  rarely  been  thrown  away  upon  an  old  farmer  in 
She  country  and  his  un -polite  sister.  They  appreciated  him  though,, 
as  well  as  any  courtly  circle  could  have  done,  and  he  knew  it.  In 
aunt  Miriam  s  strong  sensible  face,  when  not  full  of  some  hospitable 
care,  he  could  see  the  reflection  of  every  play  of  his  own  ;  the 
grave  practical  eye  twinkled  and  brightened,  giving  a  ready  answer 
to  every  turn  of  sense  or  humor  in  what  he  was  saying.  Mr.  Ring 
gan,  as  much  of  a  child  for  the  moment  as  Fleda  herself,  had  lott 
everything  disagreeable  and  was,  in  the  full  genial  enjoyment  of 
talk,  rather  listening  than  talking,  with  his  cheeks  in  a  perpetual 
dimple  of  gratification,  and  a  low  laugh  of  hearty  amusement  now 
and  then  rewarding  the  conversational  and  kind  efforts  of  his  guest 
with  a  complete  triumph.  Even  the  subtle  charm  which  they  could 
not  quite  recognize  wrought  fascination.  Miss  Cynthia  declared 
af1  ward,  half  admiring  and  half  vexed,  that  he  spoiled  her  supper, 
foi  she  forgot  to  think  how  it  tasted.  Rossitur — his  good  humor 
Was  entirely  restored  ;  but  whether  even  Mr.  Carleton's  power 


QUEECHT.  «t 

could  have  achieved  that  without  the  perfect  seasoning  of  the  pig 
and  the  smooth  persuasion  of  the  richly-creamed  coftee,  it  may  per* 
haps  be  doubted.  He  stared,  mentally,  for  he  had  never  known 
his*  friend  condescend  to  bring  himself  out  in  the  same  manner  be 
fore  ;  and  he  wondered  what  he  could  see  in  the  present  occasion 
to  make  it  worth  while. 

But  Mr.  Carleton  did  not  think  his  efforts  thrown  away.  He  un 
derstood  and  admired  his  fine  old  host  and  hostess  ;  and  with  all 
their  ignorance  of  conventionalities  and  absence  of  what  is  called 
polish  of  manner,  he  could  erijoy  the  sterling  sense,  the  good  feeling, 
';he  true  hearty  hospitality,  and  the  dignified  courtesy,  which  both 
of  them  showed.  No  matter  of  the  outside  ;  this  was  in  the  grain. 
If  mind  had  lacked  much  opportunity  it  had  also  made  good  use 
of  a  little  ;  his  host,  Mr.  Carleton  found,  had  been  a  great  reader, 
was  well  acquainted  with  history  and  a  very  intelligent  reasoner 
upon  it ;  and  both  he  and  his  sister  showed  a  strong  and  quick  apti 
tude  for  intellectual  subjects  of  conversation.  No  doubt  aunt 
Miriam's  courtesy  had  not  been  taught  by  a  dancing-master,  and 
her  brown  satin  gown  had  seen  many  a  fashion  come  and  go  since 
it  was  made,  but  a  lady  was  in  both  ;  and  while  Rossitur  covertly 
smiled,  Mr.  Carleton  paid  his  sincere  respect  where  he  felt  it  was 
due.  Little  Fleda's  quick  eye  hardly  saw,  but  more  than  half  felt, 
the  difference.  Mr.  Carleton  had  no  more  eager  listener  now  than 
she,  and  perhaps  none  whose  unaffected  interest  and  sympathy 
gave  him  more  pleasure. 

When  they  rose  from  the  table  Mr.  Ringgan  would  not  be  insin 
uated  into  the  cold  front  room  again. 

"  No,  no,"  said  he,— "what's  the  matter?— the  table?  Push  the 
table  back,  and  let  it  take  care  of  itself, — come,  gentlemen,  sit 
down — draw  up  your  chairs  round  the  fire,  and  a  fig  for  ceremony  ! 
Comfort,  sister  Miriam,  against  politeness,  any  day  in  the  year; — 
don't  you  say  so  too,  Fairy?  Come  here  by  me." 

"  Miss  Fleda,"  Said  Mr.  Carleton,  "will  you  take  a  ride  with  me 
to  Montepoole  to-morrow  ?  I  should  like  to  make  you  acquainted 
with  my  mother." 

Fleda  colored  and  looked  at  her  grandfather. 

"  What  do  you  say,  deary  ?  "  he  inquired  fondly  ;  "  will  you  go? 
— I  believe,  sir,  your  proposal  will  prove  a  very  acceptable  one^ 
You  will  go,  won't  you,  Fleda  ?  " 

Fleda  would  very  much  rather  not!  But  she  was  always  exceed* 
.ingly  afraid  of  hurting  people's  feelings  J  she  could  not  bear  that 
Mr.  Carleton  shpuld  think  she  disliked  to  go  with  him,  so  she  an 
swered  yes,  in  her  usual  sober  manner. 

Just  then  the  door  opened  and  a  man  unceremoniously  walked  in, 
his  entrance  immediately  following  a  little  sullen  knock  that  had 
made  a  mockery  of  asking  permission.  An  ill-looking  man,  in  the 
worse  sense  ;  his  face  being  a  mixture  of  cunning,  meanness,  and 
insolence.  He  shut  the  door  and  came  with  a  slow  leisurely  step 
into  the  middle  of  the  room  without  speaking  a  word.  Mr.  Carle- 
Ion  saw  the  blank  change  in  Fleda's  face.  She  knew  him. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  me,  Mr.  McGowan!  "  said  Mr.  Ringgan, 
ftot  without  something  of  the  same  change. 

"  I  guess  I  ha'n't  come  here  for  nothing,"  was  the  gruff  retort. 


82  QVEECRY. 

«•  Wouldn't  another  time  answer  as  well?" 

"  I  don't  mean  to  find  you  here  another  time,"  said  the  mm* 
chuckling,—"!  have  given  you  notice  to  quit,  and  now  1  have  come 
to  tell  you  you'll  clear  out.  I  ain't  agoing  to  be  kept  out  of  niy 
property  for  ever.  If  I  can't  get  my  money  from  you,  Elzevir  Ring. 
gan,  I'll  see  you  don't  get  no  more  of  it  in  your  hands." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  said  the  old  gentleman  ; — "  You  have  said  all 
that  is  necessary." 

"  You  have  got  to  hear  a  little  more,  though,"  returned  the  other, 
ct  I've  an  idee  that  there's  a  satisfaction  in  speaking  one's  mind.  I'll 
have  that  much  out  of  you!  Mr.  Ringgan,  a  man  hadn't  ought  to 
make  an  agreement  to  pay  what  he  doesn't  mean  to  pay,  and  what 
he  has  made  an  agreement  to  pay  he  ought  to  meet  and 
be  up  to,  if  he  sold  his  soul  for  it !  You  call  yourself  a  Chris« 
tian,  do  you,  to  stay  in  another  man's  house,  month  after  month, 
when  you  know  you  ha'n't  got  the  means  to  give  him  the  rent  for  it  * 
That's  what  /call  stealing,  and  it's  what  I'd  live1  in  the  County 
House  before  I'd  demean  myself  to  do !  and  so  ought  you." 

"  Well,  well  !  neighbor,"  said  Mr.  Ringgan,  with  patient  dignity, 
•— "  it's  no  use  calling  names.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  how  all 
this  came  about.  I  hoped  to  be  able  to  pay  you,  but  I  haven't  been 
able  to  make  it  out,  without  having  more  time." 

"  Time  !  "  said  the  other.  "  Time  to  cheat  me  out  of  a  little 
more  houseroom.  If  I  was  going  to  live  on  charity,  Mr.  Ringgan, 
I'd  come  out  and  say  so,  and  not  put  my  hand  in  a  man's  pocket 
this  may.  You'll  quit  the  house  by  the  day  after  to-morrow,  or  if 
you  don't  Til  let  you  hear  a  little  more  of  me  that  you  won't  like !  " 

He  stalked  out,  shutting  the  door  after  him  with  a  bang.  Mr. 
Carleton  had  quitted  the  room  a  moment  before  him. 

Nobody  moved  or  spoke  at  first,  when  the  man  was  gone,  except 
Miss  Cynthia,  who  as  she  was  taking  something  from  the  table  to 
the  pantry  remarked,  probably  for  Mr.  Rossitur's  benefit,  that  "  Mr. 
Ringgan  had  to  have  that  man  punished  for  something  he  did  a 
few  years  ago  when  he  was  justice  of  the  peace,  and  she  guessed 
likely  that  was  the  reason  he  had  a  grudge  agin  him  ever  since." 
Beyond  this  piece  of  dubious  information  nothing  was  said.  Little 
Fleda  stood  beside  her  grandfather  with  a  face  of  quiet  distress  ;  the 
tears  silently  running  over  her  flushed  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  Mr.  Ringgan  with  a  tender  touching  look  of  sympathy,  mo* 
pure  from  self-recollection. 

Mr.  Carleton  presently  came  in  to  take  leave  of  the  disturbed 
family.  The  old  gentleman  rose  and  returned  his  shake  of  the 
hand  with  even  a  degree  more  than  usual  of  his  manly  dignity,  of 
Mr,  Carleton  thought  so. 

"  Good  day  to  you,  sir  !  "  he  said  heartily.  "We  have  had  & 
great  deal  of  pleasure  in  your  society,  and  I  shall  always  be  very 
happy  to  see  you — wherever  I  am."  And  then  following  him  to  the 
door  and  wringing  his  hand  with  a  force  he  was  not  at  all  aware  of, 
the  old  gentleman  added  in  a  lower  tone,  "  I  shall  let  her  go  with 
you ! ' ' 

Mr.  Carleton  read  his  whole  story  in  the  stern  self-command  of 
brow,  and  the  slight  convulsion  of  feature  which  all  the  self-con* 


mand  could  not  prevent.    He  returned  warmly  the  grasp  of  the  hand 
answering  merely,  "  I  will  see  you  again." 

Fleda  wound  her  arms  round  her  grandfather's  neck  when  tLey 
were  gone,  and  did  her  best  to  comfort  him,  assuring  him  that  "  they 
would  be  just  as  happy  somewhere  else."  And  aunt  Miriam  earK- 
estly  proffered  her  own  home.  But  Fleda  knew  that  her  grand 
father  was  not  comforted.  He  stroked  her  head  with  the  same  look 
of  stern  gravity  and  troubled  emotion  which  had  grieved  her  so 
much  the  other  day.  She  could  not  win  him  to  a  smile,  and  went  to 
bed  at  last  feeling  desolate.  She  had  no  heart  to  look  out  at  the 
night.  The  wind  was  sweeping  by  in  wintry  gusts  ;  and  Fleda  cried 
herself  to  sleep  thinking  how  it  would  whistle  round  the  dear  old 
bouse  when  their  ears  would  not  be  there  to  hear  it. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

He  from  his  old  hereditary  nook 

Must  part ;  the  summons  came, — our  final  leave  we  took. 

WORDSWORTH. 

MR.  CARLETON  came  the  next  day,  but  not  early,  to  take  Fleda 
to  Montepoole.  She  had  told  her  grandfather  that  she  did  not  think 
he  would  come,  because  after  last  night  he  must  know  that  she 
would  not  want  to  go.  About  twelve  o'clock  however  he  was  there, 
with  a  little  wagon,  and  Fleda  was  fain  to  get  her  sun-bonnet  and 
let  him  put  her  in.  Happily  it  was  her  maxim  never  to  trust  to  un 
certainties,  so  she  was  quite  ready  when  he  came  and  they  had  not 
to  wait  a  minute. 

Though  Fleda  had  a  little  dread  of  being  introduced  to  a  party  of 
ttrangers  and  was  a  good  deal  disappointed  at  being  obliged  to 
keep  her  promise,  she  very  soon  began  to  be  glad.  She  found  her 
fear  gradually  falling  away  before  Mr.  Carleton's  quiet  kind  reas 
suring  manner ;  he  took  such  nice  care  of  her  ;  and  she  presently 
made  up  her  mind  that  he  would  manage  the  matter  so  that  it  would 
not  be  awkward.  They  had  so  much  pleasant  talk  too.  Fleda  had 
found  before  that  she  could  talk  to  Mr.  Carleton,  nay  she  could  not 
help  talking  to  him  ;  and  she  forgot  to  think  about  it.  And  besides. 
it  was  a  pleasant  day,  and  they  drove  fast,  and  Fleda' s  particular 
delight  was  driving  ;  and  though  the  horse  was  a  little  gay  she  had 
a  kind  of  intuitive  perception  that  Mr.  Carleton  knew  how  to  manage 
him.  So  she  gave  up  every  care  and  was  very  happy. 

When  Mr.  Carleton  asked  after  her  grandfather,  Fleda  answered 
with  great  animation,  "  O  he's  very  well !  and  such  a  happy  thing — 
You  heard  what  that  man  said  last  night,  Mr.  Carleton,  didn't 
you?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well  it  is  all  arranged  ; — this  morning  Mr.  Jolly — he's  a  friend 
of  grandpa's  that  lives  over  at  Queechy  Run  and  knew  about  all 
this — he's  a  lawyer — he  came  this  morning  and  told  grandpa  that 
he  had  found  some  one  that  could  lend  him  the  money  he  wanted 
and  there  was  no  trouble  about  it ;  and  we  are  so  happy,  for  we 
thought  we  should  have  to  go  away  from  where  we  live  now,  and  I 
know  grandpa  would  have  felt  it  dreadfully.  If  it  hadn't  been  fQI 


84  QUEECHT. 

that;, — I  mean,  for  Mr.  Jolly's  coming, — I  couldn't  have  gone  to 
Montepoole  to-day." 

"  Then  I  am  very  glad  Mr.  Jolly  made  his  appearance,"  said  Mrt 
Carleton. 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Fleda ; — "  but  I  think  it  was  a  little  strange  that 
Mr.  Jolly  wouldn't  tell  us  who  it  was  that  he  had  got  the  money 
from.  Grandpa  said  he  never  saw  Mr.  Jolly  so  curious." 

When  they  got  to  the  Pool  Fleda's  nervousness  returned  a  little  ; 
but  she  went  through  the  dreaded  introduction  with  great  demure- 
ness  and  perfect  propriety.  And  throughout  the  day  MJ.  Carletor 
had  no  reason  to  fear  rebuke  for  the  judgment  which  lie  had  pro- 
aounced  upon  his  little  paragon.  All  the  flattering  attention  which 
was  shown  her,  and  it  was  a  good  deal,  could  not  draw  Fleda  a  line 
beyond  the  dignified  simplicity  which  seemed  natural  to  her ;  any 
more  than  the  witty  attempts  at  raillery  and  endeavors  to  amuse 
themselves  at  her  expense,  in  which  some  of  the  gentlemen  shewed 
their  wisdom,  could  move  her  from  her  modest  self-possession. 
Very  quiet,  very  modest,  as  she  invariably  was,  awkwardness  could 
Bot  fasten  upon  her;  her  color  might  come  and  her  timid  eye  fall; 
h  often  did  ;  but  Fleda's  wits  were  always  in  their  place  and  within 
call.  She  would  shrink  from  a  stranger's  eye,  and  yet  when  spoken 
to  her  answers  were  as  ready  and  acute  as  they  were  marked  foi 
simplicity  and  gentleness.  She  was  kept  to  dinner  ;  and  though  the 
arrangement  and  manner  of  the  service  must  have  been  strange  to 
little  Fleda,  it  was  impossible  to  guess  from  word  or  look  that  it  was 
the  first  time  within  her  recollection  that  she  had  ever  seen  the  like. 
Her  native  instincts  took  it  all  as  quietly  as  any  old  liberalized 
traveler  looks  upon  the  customs  of  a  new  country.  Mr.  Carleton 
smiled  as  he  now  and  then  saw  a  glance  of  intelligence  or  admira 
tion  pass  between  one  and  another  of  the  company  ;  and  a  little 
knowing  nod  from  Mrs.  Evelyn  and  many  a  look  from  his  mother 
confessed  he  had  been  quite  right. 

Those  two,  Mrs.  Evelyn  and  Mrs.  Carleton,  were  by  far  the  most 
kind  and  eager  in  their  attention  to  Fleda.  Mrs.  Thorn  did  little 
else  but  look  at  her.  The  gentlemen  amused  themselves  with  her. 
But  Mr.  Carleton,  true  to  the  hopes  Fleda  had  founded  upon  his 
good-nature,  had  stood  her  friend  all  the  day,  coming  to  her  help  if 
she  needed  any,  and  placing  himself  easily  and  quietly  between  her 
and  anything  that  threatened  to  try  or  annoy  her  too  much.  Fleda 
felt  it  with  grateful  admiration.  Yet  she  noticed,  too,  that  he  was  a 
very  different  person  at  this  dinner-table  from  what  he  had  been  the 
other  day  at  her  grandfather's.  Easy  and  graceful,  always,  he  tilled 
his  own  place,  but  did  not  seem  to  care  to  do  more  ;  there  was  even 
something  bordering  on  haughtiness  in  his  air  of  grave  reserve.  He 
was  not  the  life  of  the  company  here  ;  he  contented  himself  withbe* 
ing  all, that  the  company  coula  possibly  require  of  him. 

On  the  whole  Fleda  was  exceedingly  well  pleased  with  her  day,, 
and  thought  all  the  people  in  general  very  kind.  It  was  quite  late 
before  she  set  out  to  go  home  again  ;  and  then  Mrs.  Evelyn  and 
Mrs.  Carleton  were  extremely  afraid  lest  she  should  take  cold,  and 
Mr.  Carleton  without  saying  one  word  about  it  wrapped  her  up  so 
very  nicely  after  she  got  into  Jie  wagon,  in  a  warm  cloak  of  his 
mother's.  The  drive  home,  through  the  gathering  shades  of  twilight 


*AS  to  little  Fleda  thoroughly  charming.  It  was  almost  in  perfect 
silence,  but  she  liked  that  ;  and  all  the  way  home  her  mind  was  full 
of  a  shadowy  beautiful  world  that  seemed  to  lie  before  and  around 
her. 

It  was  a  happy  child  that  Mr.  Carleton  lifted  from  the  wagon 
when  they  reached  Queechy.  He  read  it  in  the  utter  lighthearted- 
ness  of  brow  and  voice,  and  the  spring  to  the  ground  which  hardly 
needed  the  help  of  his  hands. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Carleton,"  she  said  when  she  had  reached  he? 
nwn  door ;  (he  would  not  go  in)  "I  have  had  a  very  nice  time  !" 

He  smiled. 

"  Good-night/'  said  he.  "  Tell  your  grandfather  I  will  come  to 
morrow  to  see  him  about  some  business." 

Fleda  ran  gayly  into  the  kitchen.     Only  Cynthia  was  there. 

"  Where  is  grandpa,  Cynthy  ?  " 

"  He  went  off  into  his  room  a  half  an  hour  ago.  I  believe  he's 
layin'  down.  He  ain't  right  well,  I  s'pect.  What's  made  you  so 
late?" 

"  O  they  kept  me,"  said  Fleda.  Her  gayety  suddenly  scbered, 
she  took  off  her  bonnet  and  coat  and  throwing  them  down  in  the 
kitchen  stole  softly  along  the  passage  to  her  grandfather's  room. 
She  stopped  a  minute  at  the  door  and  held  her  breath  to  see  if  she 
could  hear  any  movement  which  might  tell  her  he  was  not  asleep. 
It  was  all  still,  and  pulling  the  iron  latch  with  her  gentlest  hand 
Fleda  went  on  tiptoe  into  the  room.  He  was  lying  on  the  bed,  but 
awake,  for  she  had  made  no  noise  and  the  blue  eyes  opened  and 
looked  upon  her  as  she  came  near. 

"  Are  you  not  well,  dear  grandpa  ?"  said  the  little  girl. 

Nothing  made  of  flesh  and  blood  ever  spoke  words  uf  more  spirit- 
like  sweetness, — not  the  beauty  of  a  fine  organ,  bi»t  such  as  the 
sweetness  of  angel-speech  might  be  ;  a  whisper  of  love  and  tender 
ness  that  was  hushed  by  its  own  intensity.  He  did  not  answer,  or 
did  not  notice  her  first  question  ;  she  repeated  it. 

"  Don't  you  feel  well  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly,  dear !  "  he  replied. 

There  was  the  shadow  of  somewhat  in  his  tone,  that  fell  upon  his 
little  granddaughter's  heart  and  brow  at  once.  Her  voice  next  time, 
though  not  suffered  to  be  anything  but  clear  and  cheerful  still,  had 
n  part  the  clearness  of  apprehension. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  " 

"  Oh — I  don't  know,  dear!  " 

She  felt  the  shadow  again,  and  lie  seemed  to  say  thai  time  would 
show  her  the  meaning  of  it.  She  put  her  little  hand  in  one  of  his 
•rhich  lay  outside  the  coverlets,  and  stood  looking  at  him  ;  and  pres 
ently  said,  but  in  a  very  different  key  from  the  same  speech  to  Mr. 
Carleton, 

"  I  have  had  a  very  nice  time,  dear  grandpa." 

Her  grandfather  made  her  no  answer.  He  brought  the  dear  little 
hand  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it  twice,  so  earnestly  that  it  was  almost 
passionately  ;  then  laid  it  on  the  side  of  the  bed  again,  with  his  own 
upon  ii,  and  patted  it  slowly  and  fondly  and  with  an  inexpressible 
kind  of  sadness  in  the  manner.  Fleda's  lip  trembled  and  her  heart 
was  fluttering:,  but  she  stood  so  that  he  could  not  see  her  face  in  the 


9b  QUEECHT. 

<usk,  and  kept  still  till  the  rebel  features  were  cairn  «*ga:n  and  she 
fcad  schooled  the  heart  to  be  silent. 

Mr.  Ringgan  had  closed  his  eyes,  and  perhaps  was  a»*eep,  and 
his  little  granddaughter  sat  quietly  down  on  a  chair  by  the  Bedside 
to  watch  by  him,  in  that  gentle  sorrowful  patience  which  w^men 
often  know  but  which  hardly  belongs  to  childhood.  Her  eye  aM 
thoughts,  as  she  sat  there  in  the  dusky  twilight,  fell  upon  the  hand  of 
fcer  grandfather  which  still  fondly  held  one  of  her  own  ;  and  fancy 
traveled  fast  and  far,  from  what  it  was  to  what  it  had  been.  Rough, 
discolored,  stiff,  as  it  lay  there  now,  she  thought  how  it  had  once 
had  the  hue  and  the  freshness  and  the  grace  of  youth,  when  it  had 
been  the  instrument  of  uncommon  strength  and  wielded  an  authority 
that  none  could  stand  against.  Her  fancy  wandered  over  the  scenes 
it  had  known  ;  when  it  had  felled  trees  in  the  wild  forest,  and  those 
fingers,  then  supple  and  slight,  had  played  the  fife  to  the  struggling 
men  of  the  Revolution  ;  how  its  activity  had  outdone  the  activity  of 
all  other  hands  in  clearing  and  cultivating  those  very  fields  where 
her  feet  loved  to  run  ;  how  in  its  pride  of  strength  it  had  handled 
the  scythe  and  the  sickle  and  the  flail,  with  a  grace  and  efficiency 
that  no  other  could  attain  ;  and  how  in  happy  manhood  that  strong 
arm  had  fondled  and  sheltered  and  led  the  little  children  that  now  had 
grown  up  and  were  gone! — Strength  and  activity,  ay,  and  the  fruits 
cf  them,  were  passed  away  ; — his  children  were  dead  ; — hjs  race 
was  run  ; — the  shock  of  corn  was  in  full  season,  ready  to  be  gath 
ered.  Poor  little  Fleda !  her  thought  had  traveled  but  a  very  little 
way  before  the  sense  of  these  things  entirely  overcame  her ;  her 
head  bowed  on  her  knees,  and  she  wept  tears  that  all  the  fine  springs 
of  her  nature  were  moving  to  feed — many,  many, — but  poured  forth 
as  quietly  as  bitterly  ;  she  smothered  every  sound.  That  beautiful 
shadowy  world  with  which  she  had  been  so  busy  a  little  while  ago, 
—alas  !  she  had  left  the  fair  outlines  and  the  dreamy  light  and  had 
been  tracking  one  solitary  path  through  the  wilderness,  and  she  saw 
how  the  traveler  loot-sore  and  weather-beaten  comes  to  the  end  o( 
his  way.  And  after  all,  he  comes  to  the  end. — "  Yes,  and  I  must 
travel  through  life  and  come  to  the  end,  too,"  thought  little  Fleda  ; 
—"life  is  but  a  passing  through  the  world  ;  my  hand  must  wither 
and  grow  old  too,  if  I  live  long  enough,  and  whether  or  no,  I  must 
come  to  the  end— Oh,  there  is  only  one  thing  that  ought  to  be  very 
much  minded  in  this  world  !  * 

That  thought,  sober  though  it  was,  brought  sweet  consolation. 
Fleda1  s  tears,  if  they  fell  as  fast,  grew  brighter,  as  she  remembered 
with  singular  tender  joy  thai  her  mother  and  her  father  had  been 
ready  to  see  the  end  of  their  journey,  and  were  not  afraid  of  it ;  that 
her  grandfather  and  her  aunt  Miriam  were  happy  in  the  same  quiet 
confidence,  and  she  believed  she  herself  was  a  lamb  of  the  Good 
Shepherd's  flock.  "And  he  will  let  none  of  his  lambs  be  lost,"  she 
thought.  "  How  happy  I  am]  How  happy  we  all  are!  " 

Her  grandfather  still  lay  quiet  as  if  asleep,  and  gently  drawing 
her  hand  from  under  his,  F?eda  went  and  got  a  candle  arid  sat 
down  by  him  again  to  read,  :arefully  shading  the  light  so  that  it 
might  not  awake  him. 

He  presently  spoke  to  her,  and  more  cheerfully.     f 

"Are  you  reading,  dear?  " 


QUEECHY.  )7 

"Yes,  grandpa  !  "  said  the  little  girl  looking  up  onghtly.  ••  Do«s 
the  candle  disturb  you  ?  " 

"  No  dear  ! — What  have  you  got  there  ?  " 

"  I  just  took  up  this  volume  of  Newton  that  has  the  hymns  in  it/* 

"  Read  out." 

Fleda  read  Mr.  Newton's  long  beautiful  hymn,  "  The  Lord  will 
provide  ;  "  but  with  her  late  thoughts  fresh  in  her  mind  it  was  hard 
jo  get  through  the  last  verses  ; — 

"  No  strength  of  our  own, 

Or  goodness  we  claim ; 
But  since  we  have  known 

The  Saviour's  great  name, 
In  this,  our  strong  tower, 

For  safety  we  hide ; 
The  Lord  is  our  power, 

The  Lord  will  provide. 

«  When  life  sinks  apace, 

And  death  is  in  view, 
This  word  of  his  grace 

Shall  comfort  us  through. 
No  fearing  nor  doubting, — 

With  Christ  on  our  side, 
We  hope  to  die  shouting 

The  Lord  will  provide !  " 

The  «ittle  reader's  voice  changed,  almost  broke,  but  she  struggfec 
through,  and  then  was  quietly  crying  behind  her  hand. 

"  Reac*  it  again."  said  the  old  gentleman  after  a  pause. 

There  is  no  *  cannot  '  in  the  vocabulary  of  affection.  Fleda 
waited  a  ninute  or  two  to  rally  her  forces,  and  then  went  through 
it  againt  .uore  steadily  than  the  first  time. 

"Yes  '  said  Mr.  Ringgan  calmly,  folding  his  hands, — "that 
will  do  !  That  trust  won't  fail,  for  it  is  founded  upon  a  rock.  '  He 
is  a  rock  ;  and  h&  knoweth  them  that  put  their  trust  in  him  ! '  I 
have  befett  a  foot  to  doubt  ever  that  he  would  make  all  things 
work  well  -The  Lord  will  provide  !  " 

"Grandma."  said  Fleda,  but  in  an  unsteady  voice,  and  shading 
her  face  w;th  her  Land  still, — "  I  can  remember  reading  this  hymn 
;o  my  motUcr  once  when  I  was  so  little  that  '  suggestions  '  was  a 
hard  word  i^>  me." 

"Ay,  ay,  ~I  dare  say,"  said  the  old  gentleman, — "  your  mother 
knew  that  Hock  and  rested  her  hope  upon  it, — where  mine  stands 
now.  If  ev*  r  there  was  a  creature  that  might  have  trusted  to  her 
own  doings,  1  believe  she  was  one,  for  I  never  saw  her  do  any 
thing  wrong,— as  I  know.  But  she  knew  Christ  was  all.  Will  you 
follow  him  as  she  did,  dear?" 

Fleda  tried  jn  vain  to  give  an  answer. 

"  Do  you  kv.ow  what  her  last  prayer  for  you  was,  Fleda?  " 

"  No,  grandpa." 

"  It  was  that  you  might  be  kept  '  unspotted  from  the  world.'  I 
heard  her  make  that  prayer  myself."  And  stretching  out  his  hand 
the  old  gentleman  laid  it  tenderly  upon  Fleda's  bowed  head,  saying 


88 

with  strong  earnestness  and  affection,  even  his  voice  somewhat 
shaken,  "God  grant  that  prayer! — whatever  else  he  do  with  her, 
keep  my  child  from  the  evil ! — and  bring  her  to  join  her  father  and 
mother  in  heaven  ! — and  me  !  " 

He  said  no  more  ; — but  Fleda's  sobs  said  a  great  deal.  And 
when  the  sobs  were  hushed,  she  still  sat  shedding  quiet  tears,  sor 
rowed  and  disturbed  by  her  grandfather's  manner.  She  had  never 
known  it  so  grave,  so  solemn  ;  but  there  was  that  shadow  of  some 
thing  else  in  it  besides,  and  she  would  have  feared  if  she  had  known 
what  to  fear.  He  told  her  at  last  that  she  had  better  go  to  bed,  and 
to  say  to  Cynthy  that  he  wanted  to  see  her.  bhe  was  going,  and 
had  near  reached  the  door,  when  he  said, 

"Elfleda!  " 

She  hastened  back  to  the  bedside. 

"  Kiss  me." 

He  let  her  do  so  twice,  without  moving,  and  then  holding  her 
to  his  breast  he  pressed  one  long  earnest  passionate  kiss  upon  her 
lips,  and  released  her. 

Fleda  told  Cynthy  that  her  grandfather  wished  her  to  come  to 
him,  and  then  mounted  the  stairs  to  her  little  bed-room.  She 
went  to  the  window  and  opening  it  looked  out  at  the  soft  moonlit 
sky  ;  the  weather  was  mild  again  and  a  little  hazy,  and  the  land 
scape  was  beautiful.  But  little  Fleda  was  tasting  realities,  and 
she  could  not  go  off  upon  dream-journeys  to  seek  the  light  food  of 
lancy  through  the  air.  She  did  not  think  to-night  about  the  peo 
ple  the  moon  was  shining  on  ;  she  only  thought  of  one  little  sad 
anxious  heart, — and  of  another  down-stairs,  more  sad  and  anxious 
still,  she  feared  ; — what  could  it  be  about  ?  Now  that  Mr.  Jolly  had 
settled  all  that  troublesome  business  with  McGowan  ? — 

As  she  stood  there  at  the  window,  gazing  out  aimlessly  into  the 
still  night, — it  was  very  quiet, — she  heard  Cynthy  at  the  back  of  the 
house  calling  out,  but  as  if  she  were  afraid  of  making  too  much 
noise,  "  Watkins  ! — Watkins  !  " 

The  sound  had  business,  if  not  anxiety,  in  it.  Fleda  instinctively 
held  her  breath  to  listen.  Presently  she  heard  Watkins  reply  ;  but 
they  were  round  the  corner,  she  could  not  easily  make  out  what  they 
said.  It  was  only  by  straining  her  ears  that  she  caught  the  words. 

"Watkins,  Mr.  Ringgan  wants  you  to  go  right  up  on  the  hill  to 
Mis'  Plumfield's  and  tell  her  he  wants  her  to  come  right  down — he 
thinks" — the  voice  of  the  speaker  fell,  and  Fleda  could  only  make 
out  the  last  words, — "  Dr.  James."  More  was  said,  but  so  thick 
and  low  that  she  could  understand  nothing. 

She  had  heard  enough.  She  shut  the  window,  trembling,  and 
fastened  again  the  parts  of  her  dress  she  had  loosened  ;  and  softly 
and  hastily  went  down  the  stairs  into  the  kitchen. 

"  Cynthy  ! — what  is  the  matter  with  grandpa  ?  " 

"Why  ain't  you  in  bed,  Flidtfa  ?  "  said  Cynthy  with  some  sharp 
ness.  "  That's  what  you  had  ought  to  be.  I  am  sure  your  grand  pa 
wants  you  to  be  abed." 

"  But  tell  me,"  said  Fleda  anxiously. 

"  I  don't  know  as  there's  anything  the  matter  with  him,"  said 
Cynthy.  "  Nothing  much,  I  suppose.  What  makes  you  think  any 
thing  is  the  matter  ? ' ' 


••  Because  I  heard  you  telling  Watkins  to  go  for  aunt  Miriam." 
Fleda  could  not  say, — "  and  the  doctor." 

11  Well  your  grandpa  thought  he'd  like  to  have  her  come  down, 
and  he  don't  feel  right  well, — so  I  sent  Watkins  up  ;  but  you'd  bet 
ter  go  to  bed,  Flidda;  you'll  catch  cold  if  you  sit  up  o*  night." 

Fleda  was  unsatisfied,  the  more  because  Cynthy  would  not  meet 
the  keen  searching  look  with  which  the  little  girl  tried  to  read  hei 
face.  She  was  not  to  be  sent  to  bed,  and  all  Cynthy 's  endeav 
ors  to  make  her  change  her  mind  were  of  no  avail.  Fleda  saw 
in  them  but  fresh  reason  for  staying,  and  saw  besides,  what 
Cynthy  could  not  hide,  a  somewhat  of  wandering  and  uneasiness 
in  her  manner  which  strengthened  her  resolution.  She  sat  down 
in  the  chimney  corner,  resolved  to  wait  till  her  aunt  Miriam  came  ; 
there  would  be  satisfaction  in  her,  for  aunt  Miriam  always  told  the 
truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth. 

It  was  a  miserable  three  quarters  of  an  hour.  The  kitchen 
seemed  to  wear  a  strange  desolate  look,  though  seen  in  its  wonted 
bright  light  of  fire  and  candles,  and  in  itself  nice  and  cheerful  as 
usual.  Fleda  looked  at  it  also  through  that  vague  fear  which 
casts  its  own  lurid  color  upon  everything.  The  very  flickering  of 
the  candle  blaze  seemed  of  ill  omen,  and  her  grandfather's  empty 
chair  stood  a  signal  of  pain  to  little  Fleda  whenever  she  looked  at 
it,  She  sat  still,  in  submissive  patience,  her  cheek  pale  with  the 
working  of  a  heart  too  big  for  that  little  body.  Cynthia  was  going 
in  and  out  of  her  grandfather's  room,  but  Fleda  would  not  ask  her 
any  more  questions,  to  be  disappointed  with  word-answers;  she 
waited,  but  the  minutes  seemed  very  long, — and  very  sad. 

Th&»  characteristic  outward  calm  which  Fleda  had  kept,  and 
\vliich  belonged  to  a  nature  uncommonly  moulded  to  patience  and 
fortitude,  had  yet  perhaps  heightened  the  pressure  of  excited  fear 
within.  When  at  last  she  saw  the  cloak  and  hood  of  aunt  Miriam 
coming  through  the  moonlight  to  the  kitchen  door,  she  rushed  to 
open  it,  and  quite  overcome  for  the  moment  threw  her  arms  around 
her  and  was  speechless.  Aunt  Miriam's  tender  and  quiet  voice 
comforted  her. 

"You  ap  yet,  Fleda!  Hadn't  you  better  go  to  bed?  'Tisn't 
good  for  you." 

"That's  what  I've  been  a  telling  her,"  said  Cynthy,  "  but  she 
wa'n't  a  mind  to  listen  to  me." 

But  the  two  little  arms  embraced  aunt  Miriam's  cloak  and  wrap 
pers  and  the  little  face  was  hid  there  still,  and  Fleda' s  answer  was 
a  half  smothered  ejaculation. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  are  come,  dear  aunt  Miriam !  *' 

Aunt  Miriam  kissed  her  again,  and  again  repeated  her  request. 

"  O  no — I  can't  go  to  bed,"  said  Fleda  crying  ; — "  I  can't  till  I 
know — I  am  sure  something  is  the  matter,  or  Cynthy  wouldn't  look 
so.  Do  tell  me,  aunt  Miriam  !  " 

"  I  can't  tell  you  anything,  dear,  except  that  grandpa  is  not  well 
— that  is  all  I  know — I  am  going  in  to  see  him.  I  will  tell  you  in. 
the  morning  how  he  is." 

"  No,"  said  Fleda,  "  I  will  wait  here  till  you  come  out.  I  couldn't 
sleep." 

Mrs.  Plumfield  made  no  more  efforts  to  persuade  her.  but  rid  her- 


70 

•elf  of  cloak  and  hood  and  went  into  Mr.  Ringgan's  room.  Fleda 
placed  herself  again  in  her  chimney  corner.  Burying  her  face  in 
her  hands,  she  sat  waiting  more  quietly  ;  and  Cynthy,  having 
finished  all  her  business,  took  a  chair  on  the  hearth  opposite  to  her. 
Both  were  silent  and  motionless,  except  when  Cynthy  once  in  a 
while  got  up  to  re-adjust  the  sticks  of  wood  on  the  fire.  They 
sat  there  waiting  so  long  that  Fleda's  anxiety  began  to  quicken 
again. 

"Don't  you  think  the  doctor  is  a  long  time  coming,  Cynthy?" 
said  she  raising  her  head  at  last.  Her  question,  breaking  that 
forced  silence,  sounded  fearful. 

c;  It  seems  kind  o'  long,"  said  Cynthy.  "  I  guess  Watkins  ha* n't 
found  him  to  hum." 

Watkins  indeed  presently  came  in  and  reported  as  much,  and 
that  the  wind  was  changing  and  it  was  coming  off  cold  ;  and  then 
his  heavy  boots  were  heard  going  up  the  stairs  to  his  room  over 
head  ;  but  Fleda  listened  in  vain  for  the  sound  of  the  latch  of  hei 
grandfather's  door,  or  aunt  Miriam's  quiet  foot-fall  in  the  passage  ; 
listened  and  longed,  till  the  minutes  seemed  like  the  links  of  a 
heavy  chain  which  she  was  obliged  to  pass  over  from  hand  to  hand, 
and  the  last  link  could  not  be  found.  The  noise  of  Watkins'  feet 
ceased  overhead,  and  nothing  stirred  or  moved  but  the  crackling 
flames  and  Cynthia's  elbows,  which  took  turns  each  in  resting  upon 
the  opposite  arm,  and  now  and  then  a  tell-tale  gust  of  wind  in  the 
trees.  If  Mr.  Ringgan  was  asleep,  why  did  not  aunt  Miriam  come 
out  and  see  them, — if  he  was  better,  why  not  come  and  tell  them  so, 
He  had  been  asleep  when  she  first  went  into  his  room,  and  she  had 
come  back  for  a  minute  then  to  try  again  to  get  Fleda  to  bed  ;  why 
could  she  not  come  out  for  a  minute  once  more.  Two  hours  of 
watching  and  trouble  had  quite  changed  little  Fleda  ;  the  dark  ring 
of  anxiety  had  come  under  each  eye  in  her  little  pale  face  ;  she 
looked  herself  almost  ill. 

Aunt  Miriam's  grave  step  was  heard  coming  out  of  the  room  at 
last, — it  did  not  sound  cheerfully  in  Fleda's  ears.  She  came  in,  and 
stopping  to  give  some  direction  to  Cynthy,  walked  up  to  Fleda. 
Her  face  encouraged  no  questions.  She  took  the  child's  head  ten 
derly  in  both  her  hands,  and  told  her  gently,  but  it  was  in  vain  that 
she  tried  to  make  her  voice  quite  as  usual,  that  she  had  better  go  Ur 
bed — that  she  would  be  sick. 

Fleda  looked  up  anxiously  in  her  face. 

"  How  is  he?  " 

But  her  next  word  was  the  wailing  cry  of  sorrow, — "Oh 
grandpa  ! — " 

The  old  lady  took  the  little  child  m  her  arms  and  they  both  sat 
there  by  the  fire  until  the  morning  dawned. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Patience  and  sorrow  strove 

Who  snould  express  her  goodliest. — KING  LEAR. 

WHEN  Mr.  Carleton  knocked  at  the  front  door  the  next  day  about 
two  o'clock  it  was  opened  to  him  by  Cynthy.  He  asked  for  his  late 
host. 


QUEECHY  71 

••  Mr.  Ringgan  is  dead." 

"  Dead  !  "  exclaimed  the  young  man  much  shocked  ; — "  when  > 
how?" 

"  Won't  you  come  in,  sir?  "  said  Cynthy  ; — "  maybe  you'll  see 
Mis'  Plumfield." 

"No,  certainly,"  replied  the  visitor.  "Only  tell  me  about  Mr. 
Ringgan." 

"  He  died  last  night." 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Cynthy  in  a  business-like  tone  of  voice,-— 
"  I  s'pose  the  doctor  knows,  but  he  didn't  say  nothing  about  it.  He 
died  very  sudden." 

"Was  he  alone?" 

"  No — his  sister  was  with  him  ;  he  had  been  complaining  all  the 
evening  that  he  didn't  feel  right,  but  I  didn't  think  nothing  of  it  and 
I  didn't  know  as  he  did  ;  and  toward  evening  he  went  and  laid 
down,  and  Flidda  was  with  him  a  spell,  talking  to  him ;  and  at  last 
he  sent  her  to  bed  and  called  me  in  and  said  he  felt  mighty  strange 
and  he  didn't  know  what  it  was  going  to  be,  and  that  he  had  as 
lieve  I  should  send  up  and  ask  Mis'  Plumfield  to  come  down,  and 
perhaps  I  might  as  well  send  for  the  doctor  too.  And  I  sent  right 
off,  but  the  doctor  wa'n't  to  hum,  and  didn't  get  heVetill  long  after. 
Mis'  Plumfield,  she  come  ;  and  Mr.  Ringgan  was  asleep  then,  and 
I  didn't  know  as  it  was  going  to  be  anything  more  after  all  than  just 
a  turn,  such  as  anybody  might  take  ;  and  Mis'  Plumfield  went  in 
and  sot  by  him  ;  and  there  wa'n't  no  one  else  in  the  room  ;  and 
after  a  while  he  come  to,  and  talked  to  her,  she  said,  a  spell  ;  but 
he  seemed  to  think  it  was  something  more  than  common  ailed 
him;  and  all  of  a  sudden  he  just  riz  up  halfway  in  bed  and  then 
fell  back  and  died, — with  no  more  warning  than  that." 

"  And  how  is  the  little  girl  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Cynthy,  looking  off  at  right  angles  from  her  visitor, 
"  she's  middling  now,  I  s'pose,  but  she  won't  be  before  long,  or  else 
she  must  be  harder  to  make  sick  than  other  folks. — We  can't  get 
her  out  of  the  room,"  she  added,  bringing  her  eyes  to  bear,  for  an 
instant,  upon  the  young  gentleman,— "  she  stays  in  there  the  hull 
time  since  morning — I've  tried,  and  Mis'  Plumfield's  tried,  and 
everybody  has  tried,  and  there  can't  none  of  us  manage  it  ;  she  will 
stay  in  there,  and  it's  an  awful  cold  room  when  there  ain't  no  fire.'5 

Cynthy  and  her  visitor  were  both  taking  the  benefit  of  the  chill 
blast  which  rushed  in  at  the  open  door. 

"  TTie  room?"  said  Mr.  Carleton.  "The  room  where  the  body 
lies?" 

"  Yes— it's  dreadful  chill  in  there  when  the  stove  ain'theated,  and 
she  sits  there  the  hull  time.  And  she  ha'n't  got  much  to  boast  of 
now  ;  she  looks  as  if  a  feather  would  blow  her  away." 

The  door  at  the  further  end  of  the  hall  opened  about  two  inches 
and  a  voice  called  out  through  the  crack, 

"  Cynthy  ! — Mis'  Plumfield  wants  to  know  if  that  is  Mr.  Carle- 
ton  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Well  she'd  like  to  see  him.  Ask  him  to  walk  into  the  front 
loom,  she  says." 


7f  QUEECffY. 

Cynthy  upon  this  showed  the  way,  and  Mr.  Carleton  walked  into 
the  same  room  where  a  very  few  days  before  he  had  been  so  kindly 
welcomed  by  his  fine  old  host.  Cold  indeed  it  was  now,  as  was 
the  welcome  he  would  have  given.  There  was  no  fire  in  the  chim 
ney,  and  even  all  the  signs  of  the  fire  of  the  other  day  had  been 
carefully  cleared  away  ;  the  clean  empty  fireplace  looked  a  mourn 
ful  assurance  that  its  cheerfulness  would  not  soon  come  back  again. 
It  was  a  raw  disagreeable  day  ;  the  paper  window-shades  fluttered 
uncomfortably  in  the  wind,  which  had  its  way  now  ;  and  the  very 
chairs  and  tables  seemed  as  if  they  had  taken  leave  of  life  and  so 
ciety  for  ever.  Mr.  Carleton  walked  slowly  up  and  down,  his 
thoughts  running  perhaps  somewhat  in  the  train  where  poor  little 
Fleda's  had  been  so  busy  last  night  ;  and  wrapped  up  in  broad 
cloth  as  he  was  to  the  chin,  he  shivered  when  he  heard  the  chill  wind 
moaning  round  the  house  and  rustling  the  paper  hangings  and 
thought  of  little  Fleda's  delicate  frame,  exposed  as  Cynthia  had  de 
scribed  it.  He  made  up  his  mind  it  must  not  be. 

Mrs.  Plumfield  presently  came  in,  and  met  him  with  the  calm 
dignity  of  that  sorrow  which  needs  no  parade  and  that  truth  and 
meekness  of  character  which  can  make  none.  Yet  there  was  noth 
ing  like  stoicism,  no  affected  or  proud  repression  of  feeling  ;  her 
manner  was  simply  the  dictate  of  good  sense  borne  out  by  a  firm 
and  quiet  spirit.  Mr.  Carleton  was  struck  with  it ;  it  was  a  display 
of  character  different  from  any  he  had  ever  before  met  with  ; 
it  was  something  he  could  not  quite  understand.  For  he  wanted 
the  key.  But  all  the  high  respect  he  had  felt  for  this  lady  from  the 
first  was  confirmed  and  strengthened. 

After  quietly  receiving  Mr.  Carleton's  silent  grasp  of  the  hand, 
aunt  Miriam  said, 

"I  troubled  you  to  stop,  sir,  that  I  might  ask  you  how  much 
longer  you  expect  to  stop  at  Montepoole." 

"  Not  more  than  two  or  three  days,"  he  said. 

"  I  understood,"  said  aunt  Miriam  after  a  minute's  pause,  "that 
Mrs.  Carleton  was  so  kind  as  to  say  she  would  take  care  of  Elfleda 
to  France  and  put  her  in  the  hands  of  her  aunt." 

"  She  would  have  great  pleasure  in  doing  it,"  said  Mr.  Carletoii. 
"  I  can  promise  for  your  little  niece  that  she  shall  have  a  mother's 
•-.are  so  long  as  my  mother  can  render  it." 

Aunt  Miriam  was  silent,  and  he  saw  her  eyes  fill. 

"  You  should  not  have  had  the  pain  of  seeing  me  to-day,"  said 
**e  gently,  "  if  I  could  have  known  it  would  give  you  any;  feut 
since  I  am  here,  may  I  ask,  whether  it  is  your  determination  that 
Fleda  shall  go  with  us  ?  " 

"It  was  my  brother's,"  said  aunt  Miriam,  sighing; — "he  told 
me — last  night — that  he  wished  her  to  go  with  Mrs.  Carleton — if  she 
would  still  be  so  good  as  to  take  her." 

"  I  have  just  heard  about  her.  from  the  housekeeper,''  said  Mr. 
Carleton,  "what  has  disturbed  me  a  good  deal.  Will  you  forgive 
me,  if  I  venture  to  propose  that  she  should  come  to  us  at  once.  Of 
course  we  will  not  leave  the  place  for  several  days — till  you  are 
ready  to  part  with  her." 

Aunt  Miriam    hesitated,   and    again  the   tears  flushed,  to    he* 


QUEECHY.  78 

"I  believe  it  would  be  best,"  she  $aid, — "since  it  must  be — I 
cannot  get  the  child  away  from  her  grandfather — I  am  afraid  I  want 
firmness  to  do  it — and  she  ought  not  to  be  there — she  is  a  tender 
little  creature — 

For  once  self-command  failed  her — she  was  obliged  to  cover  her 
face. 

•s  A  stranger's  hands  cannot  be  more  tender  of  her  than  ours  will 
be,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  his  warm  pressure  of  aunt  Miriam's  hand 
repeating  the  promise.  "My  mother  will  brir.g  a  carriage  for  her 
this  afternoon,  if  you  will  permit." 

"  If  you  please,  sir, — since  it  must  be,  it  does  not  matter  a  day 
sooner  or  later,"  repeated  aunt  Miriam, — "  if  she  can  be  got  away 
—I  don't  know  whether  it  will  be  possible." 

Mr.  Carleton  had  his  own  private  opinion  on  that  point.  He 
merely  promised  to  be  there  again  in  a  few  hours  and  took  his 
leave. 

He  came,  with  his  mother,  about  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
They  were  shown  this  time  into  the  kitchen,  where  they  found  two 
or  three  neighbors  and  friends  with  aunt  Miriam  and  Cynthy.  The 
former  received  them  with  the  same  calm  simplicity  that  Mr.  Carle- 
ton  had  admired  in  the  morning,  but  said  she  was  afraid  their  com 
ing  would  be  in  vain  ;  she  had  talked  with  Fleda  about  the  pro 
posed  plan  and  could  not  get  her  to  listen  to  it.  She  doubted 
whether  it  would  be  possible  to  persuade  her.  And  yet — 

Aunt  Miriam's  self-possession  seemed  to  be  shaken  when  she 
thought  of  Fleda  ;  she  could  not  speak  of  her  without  watering 
eyes. 

"She's  fixing  to  be  sick  as  fast  as  ever  she  can,"  remarked 
Cynthia  dryly,  in  a  kind  of  aside  meant  for  the  audience  ; — "there 
wa'n't  a  grain  of  color  in  her  face  when  I  went  in  to  try  to  get  her 
out  a  little  while  ago  ;  and  Mis'  Plumfield  ha'n't  the  heart  to  do 
anything  with  her,  nor  nobody  else." 

"  Mother,  will  you  see  what  you  can  do  ?  "  said  Mr.  Carleton. 

Mrs.  Carleton  went,  with  an  expression  of  face  that  her  son, 
nobody  else,  knew  meant  that  she  thought  it  a  particularly  dis 
agreeable  piece  of  business.  She  came  back  after  the  lapse  of  a 
few  minutes,  in  tears. 

"  I  can  do  nothing  with  her,"  she  said  hurriedly  ;— "  I  don't  know 
what  to  say  to  her  ;  and  she  looks  like  death.  Go  yourself,  Guy  ; 
you  can  manage  her  if  any  one  can." 

Mr.  Carleton  went  immediately. 

The  room  into  which  a  short  passage  admitted  him  was  cheerless 
indeed.  On  a  fair  afternoon  the  sun's  rays  came  in  there  pleasantly, 
but  this  was  a  true  November  day  ;  a  grey  sky  and  a  chill  raw 
wind  that  found  its  way  in  between  the  loose  window-sashes  and 
frames.  One  corner  of  the  room  was  sadly  tenanted  by  the  bed 
which  held  the  remains  of  its  late  master  and  owner.  At  a  little 
table  between  the  windows,  with  her  back  turned  toward  the  bed, 
Fleda  was  sitting,  her  face  bowed  in  her  hands  ifpon  the  old  quarto 
bible  that  lay  there  open  ;  a  shawl  round  her  shoulders. 

Mr.  Carleton  went  up  to  the  side  of  the  table  and  softly  spoke 
her  name.  Fleda  looked  up  at  him  for  an  instant,  and  then  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands  on  the  book  as  before.  That  look  might  hav« 


74  QUEECHY. 

staggered  him,  but  that  Mr.  Carleton  rarely  was  staggered  in  any 
purpose  when  he  had  once  made  up  his  mind.  It  did  move  him, 
— so  much  that  he  was  obliged  to  wait  a  minute  or  two  before  he 
could  muster  firmness  to  speak  to  her  again.  Such  a  look, — so 
pitiful  in  its  sorrow,  so  appealing  in  its  helplessness,  so  imposing  in 
its  purity, — he  had  never  seen,  and  it  absolutely  awed  him.  Many 
a  child's  face  is  lovely  to  look  upon  for  its  innocent  purity,  but 
more  commonly  it  is  not  like  this;  it  is  the  purity  of  snow,  unsullied, 
but  not  unsullyable  ;  there  is  another  kind  more  ethereal,  like  that 
of  light,  which  you  feel  is  from  another  sphere  and  will  not  know 
soil.  But  there  were  other  signs  in  the  face  that  would  have  nerved 
Mr.  Carleton' s  resolution  if  he  had  needed  it.  Twenty-four  hours 
had  wrought  a  sad  change.  The  child  looked  as  if  she  had  been 
ill  for  weeks.  Her  cheeks  were  colorless  ;  the  delicate  brow  would 
have  seemed  penciled  on  marble  but  for  the  dark  lines  which  weep 
ing  and  watching,  and  still  more  sorrow,  had  drawn  underneath  ; 
and  the  beautiful  moulding  of  the  features  showed  under  the  trans 
parent  skin  like  the  work  of  the  sculptor.  She  was  not  crying  then, 
but  the  open  pages  of  the  great  bible  had  been  wet  with  very  many 
tears  since  her  head  had  rested  there. 

"  Fleda,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  after  a  moment, — "  you  must  come 
with  me." 

The  words  were  gently  and  tenderly  spoken,  yet  they  had  that 
tone  which  young  and  old  instinctively  know  it  is  vain  to  dispute. 
Fleda  glanced  up  again,  a  touching  imploring  look  it  was  very 
difficult  to  bear,  and  her  "Oh  no — I  cannot," — went  to  his  heart. 
It  was  not  resistance  but  entreaty,  and  all  the  arguments  she  would 
have  urged  seemed  to  lie  in  the  mere  tone  of  her  voice.  She  had 
no  power  of  urging  them  in  any  other  way,  for  even  as  she  spoke 
her  head  went  down  again  on  the  bible  with  a  burst  of  sorrow.  Mr. 
Carleton  was  moved,  but  not  shaken  in  his  purpose.  He  was  silent 
a  moment,  drawing  back  the  hair  that  fell  over  Fleda's  forehead 
with  a  gentle  caressing  touch ;  and  then  he  said,  still  lower  and 
more  tenderly  than  before,  but  without  flinching,  "  You  must  come 
with  me,  Fleda." 

"  Mayn't  I  stay,"  said  Fleo^a,  sobbing,  while  he  could  see  in 
the  tension  of  the  muscles  a  violent  effort  at  self-control  which  he 
did  not  like  to  see,—"  mayn't  I  stay  till— till— the  day  after  to* 
morrow  ? ' ' 

"No,  dear  Fleda,"  said  he,  still  stroking  her  head  kindly,— "  I 
will  bring  you  back,  but  you  must  go  with  me  now.  Your  aunt 
wishes  it  and  we  all  think  it  fs  best.  I  will  bring  you  back." — 

She  sobbed  bitterly  for  a  few  minutes.  Then  she  begged  in 
•mothered  words  that  he  would  leave  her  alone  a  little  while.  He 
went  immediately. 

She  checked  her  sobs  when  she  heard  the  door  close  upon  him, 
Or  as  soon  as  she  could,  and  rising  went  and  knelt  down  by  the 
side  of  the  bed.  It  was  not  to  cry,  though  what  she  did  could  not 
be  done  without  many  tears, — it  was  to  repeat  with  equal  earnest 
ness  and  solemnity  her  mother's  prayer,  that  she  might  be  kept 
pure  from  the  world's  contact.  There  beside  the  remains  of  her 
kst  dear  earthly  friend,  as  it  were  before  going  out  of  his  sight  for. 
ever,  little  Fleda  knelt  down  to  set  the  seal  of  faith  and  hope  to  his 


QOEECHY.  7S 

wishes,  and  to  lay  the  constraining  hand  of  Memory  upon  her  con 
science.  It  was  soon  done, — and  then  there  was  but  one  thing 
more  to  do.  But  oh,  the  tears  that  fell  as  she  stood  there  !  before 
she  could  go  on  ;  how  the  little  hands  were  pressed  to  the  bowed 
face,  as  if  they  would  have  borne  up  the  load  they  could  n6t  reach  ; 
the  convulsive  struggle,  before  the  last  look  could  be  taken,  the  last 
good-by  said  !  But  the  sobs  were  forced  back,  the  hands  wiped  off 
the  tears,  the  quivering  features  were  bidden  into  some  degree  of 
calmness  ;  and  she  leaned  forward,  over  the  loved  face  that  in 
death  had  kept  all  its  wonted  look  of  mildness  and  placid  dignity- 
It  was  in  vain  to  try  to  look  through  Fleda's  blinded  eyes  ;  the  ho; 
tears  dropped  fast,  while  her  trembling  lips  kissed — and  kissed, — 
those  cold  and  silent  that  could  make  no  return  ;  and  then  feeling 
that  it  was  the  last,  that  the  parting  was  over,  she  stood  again  by 
the  side  of  the  bed  as  she  had  done  a  few  minutes  before,  in  a  con 
vulsion  of  grief,  her  face  bowed  down  and  her  little  frame  racked 
with  feeling  too  strong  for  it  ;  shaken  visibly,  as  if  too  frail  to  bear 
the  trial  to  which  it  was  put. 

Mr.  Carleton  had  waited  and  waited,  as  he  thought  long  enough, 
and  now  at  last  came  in  again,  guessing  how  it  was  with  her.  He 
put  his  arm  round  the  child  and  gently  drew  her  away,  and  sitting 
down  took  her  on  his  knee ;  and  endeavored  rather  with  actions 
than  with  words  to  soothe  and  comfort  her  ;  for  he  did  not  know 
what  to  say.  But  his  gentle  delicate  way,  the  soft  touch  with  which 
he  again  stroked  back  her  hair  or  took  her  hand,  speaking  kindness 
and  sympathy,  the  loving  pressure  of  his  lips  once  or  twice  to  her 
brow,  the  low  tones  in  which  he  told  her  that  she  was  making  her 
self  sick, — that  she  must  not  do  so, — that  she  must  let  him  take  care 
of  her, — were  powerful  to  soothe  or  quiet  a  sensitive  mind,  and 
Fleda  felt  them.  It  was  a  very  difficult  task,  and  if  undertaken  by 
any  one  else  would  have  been  more  likely  to  disgust  and  distress 
her.  But  his  spirit  had  taken  the  measure  of  hers,  and  he  knew 
precisely  how  to  temper  every  word  and  tone  so  as  just  to  meet  the 
nice  sensibilities  of  her  nature.  He  had  said  hardly  any  thing,  but 
she  had  understood  all  he  meant  to  say,  and  when  he  told  her  at 
last,  softly,  that  it  was  getting  late  and  she  must  let  him  take  her 
away,  she  made  no  more  difficulty  ;  rose  up  and  let  him  lead  her 
out  of  the  room  without  once  turning  her  head  to  look  back. 

Mrs.  Carleton  looked  relieved  that  there  was  a  prospect  of  getting 
away,  and  rose  up  with  a  happy  adjusting  of  her  shawl  round  her 
shoulders.  Aunt  Miriam  came  forward  to  say  good-by,  but  it  was 
very  quietly  said.  Fleda  clasped  her  round  the  neck  convulsively 
for  an  instant,  kissed  her  as  if  a  kiss  could  speak  a  whole  heartful, 
and  then  turned  submissively  to  Mr.  Carleton  and  let  him  lead  her 
to  the  carriage. 

There  was  no  fault  to  be  found  with  Mrs.  Carleton' s  kindness 
when  they  were  on  the  way.  She  held  the  forlorn  little  child  ten 
derly  in  her  arm,  and  told  her  how  glad  she  was  to  have  her  with 
them,  how  glad  she  should  be  if  she  were  going  to  keep  her  al 
ways  ;  but  her  saying  so  only  made  Fleda  cry,  and  she  soon  thought 
k  best  to  say  nothing.  All  the  rest  of  the  way  Fleda  was  a  picture 
of  resignation :  transparently  pale,  meek  and  pure,  and  fragile 
seemingly'  as  the  dehcatest  wood-flower  that  grows.  Mr.  Carleton 


looked  grieved,  <md  leaning  forward  he  took  one  of  her  hands  m 
his  own  and  held  it  affectionately  till  they  got  to  the  end  of  their 
journey.  It  marked  Fleda's  feeling  toward  him  that  she  let  it  lie 
there  without  making  a  motion  to  draw  it  away.  She  was  so  still 
for  the  last  few  miles  that  her  friends  thought  she  had  fallen  asleep  ; 
but  when  the  carriage  stopped  and  the  light  of  the  lantern  was  flung 
inside,  they  saw  the  grave  hazel  eyes  broad  open  and  gazing  in 
tently  out  of  the  window. 

"  You  will  order  tea  for  us  in  your  dressing-room,  mother?  '  said 
Mr.  Carleton. 

-<  jjs  — who  is  us?" 

•'  Fleda  and  me, — unless  you  will  please  to  make  one  of  the 
party." 

"  Certainly  I  will,  but  perhaps  Fleda  might  like  it  better  down 
stairs.  Wouldn't  you,  dear  ?  " 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,"  said  Fleda.     "  Wherever  you  please." 

"  But  which  would  you  rather,  Fleda? ''  said  Mr.  Carleton. 

"  I  would  rather  have  it  up-stairs,"  said  Fleda  gently,  "but  it's 
no  matter." 

"  We  will  have  it  up-stairs,"  said  Mrs.  Carleton.  "  We  will  be  a 
nice  little  party  up  there  by  ourselves.  You  shall  not  come  down 
lill  you  like." 

11  You  are  hardly  able  to  walk  up,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  tenderly, 
"  Shall  I  carry  you  ?  " 

The  tears  rushed  to  Fleda's  eyes,  but  she  said  no,  and  managed 
to  mount  the  stairs,  though  it  was  evidently  an  exerton.  Mrs. 
Carleton's  dressing-room,  as  her  son  had  called  it,  looked  very 
pleasant  when  they  got  there.  It  was  well  lighted  and  warmed  and 
something  answering  to  curtains  had  been  summoned  from  its  ob 
scurity  in  store-room  or  garret  and  hung  up  at  the  windows, — 
"them  air  fussy  English  folks  had  made  such  a  pint  of  it,"  the 
landlord  said.  Truth  was,  that  Mr.  Carleton  as  well  as  his  mother 
wanted  this  room  as  a  retreat  for  the  quiet  and  privacy  which  travel 
ing  in  company  as  they  did  they  could  have  nowhere  else.  Every 
thing  the  hotel  could  furnish  in  the  shape  of  comfort  had  been 
drawn  together  to  give  this  room  as  little  the  look  of  a  public  house 
as  possible.  Easy  chairs,  as  Mrs.  Carleton  remarked  with  a  dis 
gusted  face,  one  could  not  expect  to  find  in  a  country  inn  ;  there 
•^ere  instead  as  many  as  half  a  dozen  of  "those  miserable  sub- 
jtitutes"  as  she  called  rocking-chairs,  and  sundry  fashions  of 
couches  and  sofas,  in  various  degrees  of  elegance  and  convenience,, 
The  best  of  these,  a  great  chintz-covered  thing,  full  of  pillows, 
stood  invitingly  near  the  bright  fire.  There  Mr.  Carleton  placed 
little  Fleda,  took  off  her  bonnet  and  things,  and  piled  the  cushions 
about  her  just  in  the  way  that  would  make  her  most  easy  and  com 
fortable.  He  said  little,  and  she  nothing,  but  her  eyes  watered 
again  at  the  kind  tenderness  of  his  manner.  And  then  he  left  her 
in  peace  till  the  tea  came. 

The  tea  was  made  in  that  room  for  those  three  alone.  Fleda 
knew  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carleton  staid  up  there  only  for  her  sake, 
and  it  troubled  her,  but  she  could  not  help  it.  Neither  could  she 
be  very  sorry  so  far  as  one  of  them  was  concerned.  Mr.  Carleton 
was  too  good  to  be  wished  away.  All  that  evening  his  care  of  hei 


QUEECHY.  77 

never  ceased.  At  tea,  which  the  poor  child  would  hardly  have 
shared  but  for  him,  and  after  tea,  when  in  the  absence  of  bustle  she 
had  leisure  to  feel  more  fully  her  strange  circumstances  and  posi 
tion,  he  hardly  permitted  her  to  feel  either,  doing  everything  for  her 
ease  and  pleasure  and  quietly  managing  at  the  same  time  to  k«ep 
back  his  mother's  more  forward  and  less  happily  adapted  tokens  of 
kind  feelings.  Though  she  knew  he  was  constantly  occupied  with 
her  Fleda  could  not  feel  oppressed  ;  his  kindness  was  as  prevading 
and  as  unobtrusive  as  the  summer  air  itself  ;  she  felt  as  if  she  was 
in  somebody's  hands  that  knew  her  wants  before  she  did,  and 
quietly  supplied  or  prevented  them,  in  a  way  she  could  not  tell  how. 
It  was  very  rarely  that  she  even  got  a  chance  to  utter  the  quiet  and 
touching  "thank  you,"  which  invariably  answered  every  token 
of  kindness  or  thoughtfulness  that  permitted  an  answer.  How 
greatly  that  harsh  and  sad  day  was  softened  to  little  Fleda's  heart 
by  the  good  feeling  and  fine  breeding  of  one  person.  She  thought 
when  she  went  to  bed  that  night,  thought  seriously  and  gratefully, 
that  since  she  must  go  over  the  ocean  and  take  that  long  journey  to 
her  aunt,  how  glad  she  was,  how  thankful  she  ought  to  be,  that  she 
had  so  very  kind  and  pleasant  people  to  go  with.  Kind  and  pleas 
ant  she  counted  them  both  ;  but  what  more  she  thought  of  Mr. 
Carleton  it  would  be  hard  to  say.  Her  admiration  of  him  was  very 
high,  appreciating  as  she  did  to  the  full  all  that  charm  of  manner 
which  she  could  neither  analyze  nor  describe. 

Her  last  words  to  him  that  night,  spoken  with  a  most  wistful  anx 
ious  glance  into  his  face,  were, 

44  You  will  take  me  back  again,  Mr.  Carleton?  " 

He  knew  what  she  meant. 

"  Certainly  I  will.     I  promised  you,  Fleda." 

"  Whatever  Guy  promises  you  may  be  very  sure  he  will  do,"  said 
his  mother  with  a  smile. 

Fleda  believed  it.  But  the  next  morning  it  was  very  plain  that 
this  promise  he  would  not  be  called  upon  to  perform  ;  Fleda  would 
not  be  well  enough  to  go  to  the  funeral.  She  was  able  indeed  to 
get  up,  but  she  lay  all  day  upon  the  sofa  in  the  dressing-room.  Mr. 
Carleton  had  bargained  for  no  company  last  night  ;  to-day  female 
curiosity  could  stand  it  no  longer ;  and  Mrs.  Thorn  and  Mrs. 
Evelyn  came  up  to  look  and  gossip  openly  and  to  admire  and  com- 
.Tient  privately,  when  they  had  a  chance.  Fleda  lay  perfectly  quiet 
and  still,  seeming  not  much  to  notice  or  care  for  their  presence  ; 
they  thought  she  was  tolerably  easy  in  body  and  mind,  perhaps 
tired  and  sleepy,  and  like  to  do  well  enough  after  a  few  days.  How 
little  they  knew .'  How  little  they  could  imagine  the  assembly  of 
Thought  which  was  holding  in  that  child's  mind  ;  how  little  they 
deemed  of  the  deep,  sad,  serious  look  into  life  which  that  little 
spirit  was  taking.  How  far  they  were  from  fancying  while  they 
sjwere  discussing  all  manner  of  trifles  before  her,  sometimes  when 
they  thought  her  sleeping,  that  in  the  intervals  between  sadder  and 
weightier  things  her  nice  instincts  were  taking  the  gauge  of  all  their 
characters  ;  unconsciously,  but  surely  ;  how  they  might  have  been 
ashamed  if  they  had  known  that  while  they  were  busy  with  all  affairs 
in  the  universe  but  those  which  most  nearly  concerned  then::,  the  little 
child  at  their  side  whom  they  had  almost  fonjctte;:  was  secretly 


is  QUEECHK 

looking  up  to  her  Father  in  heaven,  and  asking  to  be  kept  pure 
from  the  world  !  "  Not  unto  the  wise  and  prudent  ;  " — how  strange 
it  may  seem  in  one  view  of  the  subject, — in  another,  how  natural, 
how  beautiful,  how  reasonable  ! 

Fleda  did  not  ask  again  to  be  taken  to  Queechy.  But  as  the 
afternoon  drew  on  she  turned  her  face  away  from  the  company  and 
shielded  it  from  view  among  the  cushions,  and  lay  in  that  utterly 
motionless  state  of  body  which  betrays  a  concentrated  movement 
of  the  spirits  in  some  hidden  direction.  To' her  companions  it  be* 
trayed  nothing.  They  only  lowered  their  tones  a  little  lest  they 
•should  disturb  her. 

It  had  grown  dark,  and  she  was  sitting  up  again,  leaning  againsi 
the  pillows  and  in  her  usual  quietude,  when  Mr.  Carleton  came  in. 
They  had  not  seen  him  since  before  dinner.  He  came  to  her  side 
and  taking  her  hand  made  some  gentle  inquiry  how  she  was. 

«'  She  has  had  a  fine  rest,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"  She  has  been  sleeping  all  the  afternoon,"  said  Mrs.  Carleton, — 
"  she  lay  as  quiet  as  a  mouse,  without  stirring  ; — you  were  sleeping, 
weren't  you,  dear  ?  " 

Fleda's  lips  hardly  formed  the  word  "  no,"  and  her  features  were 
quivering  sadly.  Mr.  Carleton's  were  impenetrable. 

"  Dear  Fleda,"  said  he,  stooping  down  speaking  with  equal 
gravity  and  kindliness  of  manner, — "  you  were  not  able  to  go." 

Fleda's  shake  of  the  head  gave  a  meek  acquiescence.  But  her 
face  was  covered,  and  the  gay  talkers  around  her  were  silenced  and 
sobered  by  the  heaving  of  her  little  frame  with  sobs  that  she  could 
not  keep  back.  Mr.  Carleton  secured  the  permanence  of  their 
silence  for  that  evening.  He  dismissed  them  the  room  again  and 
would  have  nobody  there  but  himself  and  his  mother. 

Instead  of  being  better  the  next  day  Fleda  was  not  able  to  get 
up ;  she  was  somewhat  feverish  and  exceedingly  weak.  She  lay 
like  a  baby,  Mrs.  Carleton  said,  and  gave  as  little  trouble.  Gentle 
and  patient  always,  she  made  no  complaint,  and  even  uttered  no 
wish,  and  whatever  they  did  made  no  objection.  Though  many  a 
tear  that  day  and  the  following  paid  its  faithful  tribute  to  the  mem 
ory  of  what  she  had  lost,  no  one  knew  it  ;  she  was  never  seen  to 
weep  ;  and  the  very  grave  composure  of  her  face  and  her  pas 
sive  unconcern  as  to  what  was  done  or  doing  around  her  alone  gave 
her  friends  reason  to  suspect  that  the  mind  was  not  as  quiet  as  the 
body.  Mr.  Carleton  was  the  only  one  who  saw  deeper  ;  the  only 
one  that  guessed  why  the  little  hand  often  covered  the  eyes  so  care 
fully,  and  read  the  very,  very  grave  lines  of  the  mouth  that  it  could 
not  hide. 

As  soon  as  she  could  bear  it  he  had  her  brought  out  to  the  dress 
ing-room  again,  and  laid  on  the  sofa  ;  and  it  was  several  days  be 
fore  she  could  be  got  any  further  But  there  he  could  be  more  with 
her  and  devote  himself  more  to  her  pleasure  ;  and  it  was  not  long 
before  he  had  made  himself  necessary  to  the  poor  child's  comfort 
in  a  way  beyond  what  he  was  aware  of. 

He  was  not  the  only  one  who  showed  her  kindness.  Unwearied 
care  and  most  affectionate  attention  were  lavished  upon  her  by  his~ 
mother  and  both  her  friends  ;  they  all  thought  they  could  not  do 
enough  to  mark  their  feeling  and  regard  for  her.  Mrs,  Carleton  and 


QUEECHY.  78 

Mrs.  Evelyn  nursed  her  by  night  and  by  day.  Mrs.  Evelyn  read 
to  her.  Mrs.  Thorn  would  come  often  to  look  and  smile  at  her  and 
say  a  few  words  of  heart-felt  pity  and  sympathy.  Yet  Fleda  could 
not  feel  quite  at  home  with  any  one  of  them.  They  did  not  see  it. 
Her  manner  was  affectionate  and  grateful,  to  the  utmost  of  their 
wish  ;  her  simple  natural  politeness,  her  nice  sense  of  propriety, 
were  at  every  call  ;  she  seemexl  after  a  few  days  to  be  as  cheerful 
and  to  enter  as  much  into  what  was  going  on  about  her  as  they  had 
any  reason  to  expect  she  could;  and  they  were  satisfied.  But  while 
moving  thus  smoothly  among  her  new  companions,  in  secret  her 
spirit  stood  aloof;  there  was  not  one  of  them  that  could  touch  her, 
that  could  understand  her,  that  could  meet  the  want  of  her  nature. 
Mrs.  Carleton  was  incapacitated  for  it  by  education  ;  Mrs.  Evelyn 
by  character  ;  Mrs.  Thorn  by  natural  constitution.  Of  them  all. 
though  by  far  the  least  winning  and  agreeable  in  personal  qualifica 
tions,  Fleda  would  soonest  have  relied  on  Mrs.  Thorn,  could  soon 
est  have  loved  her.  Her  homely  sympathy  and  kindness  made 
their  way  to  the  child's  heaYt ;  Fleda  felt  them  and  trusted  them. 
But  there  were  too  few  points  of  contact.  Fleda  thanked  her,  and  did 
not  wish  to  see  her  again.  With  Mrs.  Carleton  Fleda  had  almost  noth 
ing  at  all  in  common.  And  that  notwithstanding  all  this  lady's 
politeness,  intelligence,  cultivation,  and  real  kindness  toward  herself. 
Fleda  would  readily  have  given  her  credit  for  them  all  ;  and  yet, 
the  nautilus  may  as  soon  compare  notes  with  the  navigator,  the  ca 
nary  might  as  well  study  Maelzel's  Metronome,  as  a  child  of  nature 
and  a  woman  of  the  world  comprehend  and  suit  each  other.  The 
nature  of  the  one  must  change  or  the  two  must  remain  the  world 
wide  apart.  Fleda  felt  it,  she  did  not  know  why.  Mrs.  Carleton 
was  very  kind,  and  perfectly  polite  ;  but  Fleda  had  no  pleasure  in 
her  kindness,  no  trust  in  her  politeness  ;  or  if  that  be  saying  too 
much,  at  least  she  felt  that  for  some  inexplicable  reason  both  were 
unsatisfactory.  Even  the  tact  which  each  possessed  in  an  exquisite 
degree  was  not  the  same  in  each  ;  in  one  it  was  the  self-graduating 
power  of  a  clever  machine, — in  the  other,  the  delicateness  of  the 
sensitive-plant.  Mrs.  Carleton  herself  was  not  without  some  sense 
of  this  distinction  ;  she  confessed,  secretly,  that  there  was  some 
thing  in  Fleda  out  of  the  reach  of  her  discernment,  and  conse 
quently  beyond  the  walk  of  her  skill ;  and  felt,  rather  uneasily, 
that  more  delicate  hands  were  needed  to  guide  so  delicate  a  nature. 
Mrs  Evelyn  came  nearer  the  point.  She  was  very  pleasant,  and| 
she  knew  how  to  do  things  in  a  charming  way  ;  and  there  were 
times,  frequently,  when  Fleda  thought  she  was  everything  lovely. 
But  yet,  now  and  then  a  mere  word,  or  look,  would  contradict  this 
fair  promise,  a  something  of  hardness  which  Fleda  could  not  recon 
cile  with  the  soft  gentleness  of  other  times  ;  and  on  the  whole  Mrs. 
Evelyn  was  unsure  ground  to  her;  she  could  not  adventure  her 
confidence  there. 

With  Mr.  Carleton  alone  Fleda  felt  at  home.  He  only,  she 
knew,  completely  understood  and  appreciated  her.  Yet  she  saw 
also  that  with  others  he  was  not  the  same  as  with  her.  Whether 
grave  or  gay  there  was  about  him  an  air  of  cool  indifference,  very 
often  reserved  and  not  seldom  haughty  ;  and  the  eye  which  could 
melt  and  glow  when  turned  upon  her,  was  sometimes  as  bright 


9&  QUEECHT. 

cold  as  a  winter  sky.  Fieda  felt  sure  however  that  she  might  trust 
him  entirely  so  far  as  she  herself  was  concerned ;  of  the  rest  she 
stood  in  doubt,  She  was  quite  right  in  both  cases.  Whatever  else 
there  might  be  in  that  blue  eye,  there  was  truth  in  it  when  it  met, 
hers  ;  she  gave  that  truth  her  full  confluence  and  was  willing  to 
honor  every  draught  made  upon  her  charity  for  the  other  parts  of 
his  character. 

He  never  seemed  to  lose  sight  of  her.  He  was  always  doing 
something  for  which  Fleda  loved  him,  but  so  quietly  and  happily 
that  she  could  neither  help  his  taking  the  trouble  nor  thank  him  for 
it.  It  might  have  been  matter  of  surprise  that  a  ^ay  young  man  of 
fashion  should  concern  himself  like  a  brother  about  the  wants  oi  a 
little  child  ;  the  young  gentlemen  down  stairs  who  were  not  of  the 
society  in  the  dressing-room  did  make  themselves  very  merry  upon 
the  subject,  and  rallied  Mr.  Carleton  with  the  common  amount  of 
\vit  and  wisdom  about  his  little  sweetheart ;  a  raillery  which  met 
the  most  flinty  indifference.  But  none  of  these  who  saw  Fleda  ever 
thought  strange  of  anything  that  was  done  for  her  ;  and  Mrs.  Carle- 
ton  was  rejoiced  to  have  her  son  take  up  the  task  she  was  fain  to 
lay  down.  So  he  really,  more  than  any  one  else,  had  the  manage 
ment  of  her ;  and  Fleda  invariably  greeted  his  entrance  into  the 
room  with  a  faint  smile,  which  even  the  ladies  who  saw  agreed  v^ 
well  worth  working  for. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

If  large  possessions,  pompous  titles,  honorable  charges,  and  profitable 
commissions,  could  have  made  this  proud  man  happy,  there  would  have 
been  nothing  wanting. — L'EsxRANGE. 

SEVERAL  days  had  passed.  Fleda' s  cheeks  had  gained  no  color, 
but  she  had  grown  a  little  stronger,  and  it  was  thought  the  party 
might  proceed  on  their  way  without  any  more  tarrying  ;  trusting 
that  change  and  the  motion  of  traveling  would  do  better  things  for 
Fleda  than  could  be  hoped  from  any  further  stay  at  Montepoole. 
The  matter  was  talked  over  in  an  evening  consultation  in  the  dress 
ing-room,  and  it  was  decided  that  they  would  set  off  on  the  second 
day  thereafter. 

Fleda  was  lying  quietly  on  her  sofa,  with  her  eyes  closed,  having 
had  nothing  to  say  during  the  discussion.  They  thought  she  had 
perhaps  not  heard  it.  Mr.  Carleton's  sharper  eyes,  however,  saw 
that  one  or  two  tears  were  glimmering  just  under  the  eyelash.  He 
bent  down  over  her  and  whispered, 

•«  I  know  what  you  are  thinking  of  Fleda,  do  I  not?  " 

"I  was  thinking  of  aunt  Miriam,"  Fleda  said  in  an  answering 
whisper,  without  opening  her  eyes. 

"I  will    i   e  care  of  that." 

Fleda  oked  up  and  smiled  most  expressively  her  thanks,  and 
In  five  i  nutes  was  asleep.  Mr.  Carleton  stood  watching  her, 
querying  (how  long  those  clear  eyes  would  have  nothing  to  hide, — 
how  long' that  bright  purity  could  resist  the  corrosion  of  the  worm  ? 
breath  ;  and  half  thinking  that  it  would  be  better  for  the  spirit  to 
pass  away,  with  its  lustre  upon  it,  thar  5ay  till  self-interest  should 


QUEECBT.  81 

sharpen  the  eye,  and  the  lines  of  diplomacy  write  themselves  09 
that  fair  brow.  "  Better  so  ;  better  so." 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of  so  gloomily,  Guy?"  said  his  mother. 

"That  is  a  tender  little  creature  to  struggle  with  a  rough  world.** 

"  She  won't  have  to  struggle  with  it,"  said  Mrs.  Carleton. 

•*  She  will  do  very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

cel  don't  think  she'd  find  it  a  rough  world,  where  you  were,  Mr. 
Carleton,"  said  Mrs.  Thorn. 

"Thank  you  ma'am,"  he  said  smiling.  "But  unhappily  my 
power  reaches  very  little  way."  « 

«"  Perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  with  a  sly  smile, — "  that  might  be 
arranged  differently — Mrs.  Rossitur — I  have  no  doubt — would  de 
sire  nothing  better  than  a  smooth  world  for  her  little  niece — and 
Mr.  Carleton' s  power  might  be  unlimited  in  its  extent." 

There  was  no  answer,  and  the  absolute  repose  of  all  the  lines  of 
the  young  gentleman's  face  bordered  too  nearly  on  contempt  to 
encourage  the  lady  to  pursue  her  jest  any  further. 

The  next  day  Fleda  was  well  enough  to  bear  moving.  Mr. 
Carleton  had  her  carefully  bundled  up,  and  then  carried  her  down 
stairs  and  placed  her  in  the  little  light  wagon  which  had  once  be 
fore  brought  her  to  the  Pool.  Luckily  it  was  a  mild  day,  for  no 
close  carriage  was  to  be  had  for  love  or  money.  The  stage-coach 
in  which  Pleda  had  been  fetched  from  her  grandfather's  was  in  use, 
away  somewhere.  Mr.  Carleton  drove  her  down  to  aunt  Miriam's, 
and  leaving  her  there  he  went  off  again  ;  and  whatever  he  did 
with  himself  it  was  a  good  two  hours  before  he  came  back.  All  too 
little  yet  they  were  for  the  tears  and  the  sympathy  which  went  to  so 
many  things  both  in  the  past  and  in  the  future.  Aunt  Miriam  had 
not  said  half  she  wished  to  say,  when  the  wagon  was  at  the  gate 
again,  and  Mr.  Carleton  came  to  take  his  little  charge  away. 

He  found  her  sitting  happily  in  aunt  Miriam's  lap.  Fleda  was 
very  grateful  to  him  for  leaving  her  such  a  nice  long  time,  and 
welcomed  him  with  even  a  brighter  smile  than  usual.  But  her 
head  rested  wistfully  on  her  aunt's  bosom  after  that ;  and  when  he 
asked  her  if  she  was  almost  ready  to  go,  she  hid  her  face  there  and 
put  her  arms  about  her  neck.  The  old  lady  held  her  close  for  a 
few  minutes,  in  silence. 

"Elfleda,"  said  aunt  Miriam  gravely  and  tenderly, — "do  yo» 
know  what  was  your  mother's  prayer  for  you  ?  '* 

•9  Yes," — she  whispered. 

''What  was  it?" 

'  That  I— might  be  kept—' 

''  Unspotted  from  the  world  !  '*  repeated  aunt  Miriam,  in  a  tone  of 
tender  and  deep  feeling  ;—r-"  My  sweet  blossom! — how  wilt  thon 
keep  so  ?  Will  you  remember  always  your  mother's  prayer  ?  '* 

"I  will  try." 

"  How  will  you  try,  Fleda?" 

"  I  will  pray." 

Aunt  Miriam  kissed  her  again  and  again,  fondly  repeating  "  The 
Lord  hear  thee  !— The  Lord  bless  the  !— The  Lord  keep  thee  —as  a 
If'v  among"  thorn.*-  my  D^ecious  little  Ixabe: — thousrh  in  the  world* 
B**r  01  R. — 

••  LK>  you  think  that  is  possible  ? "  said  Mr.  Carleton  signihc*^, 


88  QUEECff}\ 

when  a  few  moments  after  they  had  risen  and  were  about  to 
rate.     Aunt  Miriam  looked  at  him  in  surprise  and  asked, 

"What,  sir?" 

"  To  live  in  the  world  and  not  be  like  the  world  ?  " 

She  cast  her  eyes  upon  Fleda,  fondly  smoothing  down  her  soft 
hair  with  both  hands  for  a  minute  or  two  before  she  answered. 

"  By  the  help  of  one  thing  sir,  yes !  " 

••  And  what  is  that  ?  "  said  he  quickly. 

"The  blessing  of  God,  with  whom  all  things  are  possible." 

His  eyes  fell,  and  there  was  a  kind  of  incredulous  sadness  in  his 
half  smile  which  aunt  Miriam  understood  better  than  he  did.  She 
sighed  as  she  folded  Fleda  again  to  her  breast  and  whisperingly 
bade  her,  "Remember!"  But  Fleda  knew  nothing  of  it ;  and 
when  she  had  finally  parted  from  aunt  Miriam  and  was  seated  in 
the  little  wagon  on  her  way  home,  to  her  fancy  the  best  friend  she 
had  in  the  world  was  sitting  beside  her. 

Neither  v*as  her  judgment  wrong,  so  far  as  it  went.  She  saw  true 
where  she  saw  at  all.  But  there  was  a  great  deal  she  could  not 
see. 

Mr.  Carleton  was  an  unbeliever.  Not  maliciously, — not  wilfully, 
- — not  stupidly  ; — rather  the  fool  of  circumstance.  His  skepticism 
might  be  traced  to  the  joint  workings  of  a  very  fine  nature  and  a 
very  bad  education.  That  is,  education  in  the  broad  sense  of  the 
term  ;  of  course  none  of  the  means  and  appliances  of  mental  cul 
ture  had  been  wanting  to  him. 

He  was  an  uncommonly  fine  example  of  what  nature  alone  can 
do  for  a  man.  A  character  of  nature's  building  is  at  best  a  very 
ragged  affair,  without  religion's  finishing  hand  ;— at  the  utmost  a 
fine  ruin — no  more.  And  if  that  be  the  utmost,  of  nature's  handi* 
work,  what  is  at  the  other  end  of  the  scale  ? — alas  !  the  rubble 
stones  of  the  ruin  ;  what  of  good  and  fair  nature  had  reared  there 
was  not  strong  enough  to  stand  alone.  But  religion  cannot  work 
alike  on  every  foundation  ;  and  the  varieties  are  as  many  as  the 
individuals.  Sometimes  she  must  build  the  whole,  from  the  very 
ground  ;  and  there  are  cases  where  nature's  work  stands  so  strong 
and  fair  that  religion's  strength  may  be  expended  in  perfecting  and 
enriching  and  carrying  it  to  an  uncommon  height  of  grace  and 
beauty,  and  dedicating  the  fair  temple  to  a  new  use. 

Of  religion  Mr.  Carleton  had  nothing  at  all,  and  a  true  Christian 
character  had  never  crossed  his  path  near  enough  for  him  to  be* 
come  acquainted  with  it.  His  mother  was  a  woman  of  the  world  ; 
his  father  had  been  a  man  of  the  world  ;  and  what  is  more,  so 
deep-dyed  a  politician  that  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  except  as  to 
bare  natural  affection,  he  was  nothing  to  his  son  and  his  son  was 
nothing  to  him.  Both  mother  and  father  thought  the  son  a  piece 
of  perfection,  and  mothers  and  fathers  have  very  often  indeed 
thought  so  on  less  grounds.  Mr.  Carleton  saw,  whenever  he  took 
time  to  look  at  him,  that  Guy  had  no  lack  either  of  quick  wit  or 
manly  bearing  ;  that  he  had  pride  enough  to  keep  him  from  low 
company  and  make  him  abhor  low  pursuits  ;  if  anything  more  than 
pride  and  better  than  pride  mingled  with  it,  the  father's  discernment 
could  not  reach  so  far.  He  had  a  love  for  knowledge  too,  that  from 
a  child  made  him  eager  in  seeking  it.  in  ways  both  regular  and  des- 


QUEECBY.  83 

ottory ;  and  tastes  which  hjs  mother  laughingly  said  would  give 
him  all  the  elegance  of  a  woman,  joined  to  the  strong  manly  char 
acter  which  no  one  ever  doubted  he  possessed.  She  looked  mostly 
at  the  outside,  willing  if  that  pleased  her  to  take  everything  else 
upon  trust ;  and  the  grace  of  manner  which  a  warm  heart  and  fine 
sensibilities  and  a  mind  entirely  frank  and  above-board  had  given 
him,  from  his  earliest  years  had  more  than  met  all  her  wishes.  No 
one  suspected  the  stubbornness  and  energy  of  will  which  was  in  fact 
the  back-bone  of  his  character.  Nothing  tried  it.  His  father's 
death  early  left  little  Guy  to  his  mother's  guardianship.  Contradict 
ing  him  was  the  last  thing  she  thought  of,  and  of  course  it  was  at 
tempted  by  no  one  else. 

If  she  would  ever  have  allowed  that  he  had  a  fault,  which  she 
never  would,  it  was  one  that  grew  out  of  his  greatest  virtue,  an  un 
manageable  truth  of  character  ;  and  if  she  ever  unwillingly  recog 
nized  its  companion  virtue,  firmness  of  will,  it"  was  when  she  en 
deavored  to  combat  certain  troublesome  demonstrations  of  the  other. 
In  spite  of  all  the  grace  and  charm  of  manner  in  which  he  was  al 
lowed  to  be  a  model,  and  which  was  as  natural  to  him  as  it  was 
universal,  if  ever  the  interests  of  truth  came  in  conflict  with  the  dic 
tates  of  society  he  flung  minor  considerations  behind  his  back  and 
came  out  with  some  startling  piece  of  bluntness  at  which  his  mother 
was  utterly  confounded.  These  occasions  were  very  rare  ;  he  never 
sought  them.  Always  where  it  was  possible  he  chose  either  to  speak 
or  be  silent  in  an  unexceptionable  manner.  But  sometimes  the  bar 
rier  of  conventionalties,  or  his  mother's  unwise  policy,  pressed  too 
hard  upon  his  integrity  or  his  indignation  ;  and  he  would  then  free 
the  barrier  and  present  the  shut-out  truth  in  its  full  size  and  propor 
tions  before  his  mother's  shocked  eyes.  It  was  in  vain  to  try  to 
coax  or  blind  him  ;  a  marble  statue  is  not  more  unruffled  by  the  soft 
airs  of  summer  ;  and  Mrs.  Carleton  was  fain  to  console  herself  with 
the  reflection  that  Guy's  very  next  act  after  one  of  these  breaks 
would  be  one  of  such  happy  fascination  that  the  former  would  be 
forgotten  ;  and  that  in  this  world  of  discordancies  it  was  impossible 
on  the  whole  for  any  one  to  come  nearer  perfection.  And  if  there 
was  inconvenience  there  were  also  great  comforts  about  this  charac 
ter  of  truthfulness. 

So  nearly  up  to  the  time  of  his  leaving  the  University  the  young 
heir  lived  a  life  of  as  free  and  uncontrolled  enjoyment  as  the  deei 
on  his  grounds,  happily  led  by  his  own  fine  instincts  to  seek  that  en 
joyment  in  pure  and  natural  sources.  His  tutor  was  proud  of  his 
success  ;  his  dependents  loved  his  frank  and  high  bearing  ;  his 
mother  rejoiced  in  his  personal  accomplishments,  and  was  secretly 
well  pleased  that  his  tastes  led  him  another  way  from  the  more  com 
mon  and  less  safe  indulgences  of  other  young  men.  He  had  not 
escaped  the  temptations  of  opportunity  and  example.  But  gam 
bling  was  not  intellectual  enough,  jockeying  was  too  undignified,  and 
drinking  too  coarse  a  pleasure  for  him.  Even  hunting  and  coursing 
charmed  him  but  for  a  few  times  ;  when  he  found  he  could  out-ride 
and  out-leap  all  his  companions,  he  hunted  no  more  ;  telling  his 
mother  when  she  attacked  him  on  the  subject,  that  he  thought  the 
hare  the  worthier  animal  of  the  two  upon  a  chase  ;  and  that  the  fox 
dtservcd  an  easier  death.  His  friends  twitted  him  with  his  want  of 


84  QUEEC8Y. 

spirit  "and  want  of  manliness  ;  but  such  light  shafts  bounded  back 
from  the  buff  suit  of  cool  indifference  in  which  their  object  was 
cased  ;  and  his  companions  very  soon  gave  over  the  attempt  either 
to  persuade  or  annoy  him,  with  the  conclusion  that  "  nothing  could 
be  done  with  Carleton." 

The  same  wants  that  had  displeased  him  in  %the  sports  soon  led 
him  to  decline  the  company  of  those  who  indulged  in  them.  From 
the  low-minded,  from  the  uncultivated,  from  the  unrefined  in  mind 
s.nd  manner,  and  such  there  are  in  the  highest  class  of  society  a? 
veil  as  in  the  legs-favored,  he  shrank  away  in  secret  disgust  of 
weariness.  There  was  no  affinity.  To  his  books,  to  his  grounds,, 
•jphich  he  took  endless  delight  in  overseeing,  to  the  fine  arts  in  gen 
eral,  for  which  he  had  a  great  love  and  for  one  or  two  of  them  z. 
great  talent, — he  went  with  restless  energy  and  no  want  of  compan 
ionship  ;  and  at  one  or  the  other,  always  pushing  eagerly  forward 
after  some  point  of  excellence  or  some  new  attainment  not  yet 
reached,  and  which  sprang  up  after  one  another  as  fast  as  ever 
"  Alps  on  Alps,"  he  was  happily  and  constantly  busy.  Too  soli 
tary,  his  mother  thought, — caring  less  for  society  than  she  wished 
to  see  him  ;  but  that  she  trusted  would  mend  itself.  He  would  be 
through  the  University  and  come  of  age  and  go  into  the  world,  as  a 
matter  of  necessity. 

But  years  brought  a  change — not  the  change  his  mother  looked 
for.  That  restless  active  energy  which  had  made  the  years  of  his 
youth  so  happy,  became,  in  connection  with  one  or  two  other  quali 
ties,  a  troublesome  companion  when  he  had  reached  the  age  of 
manhood  and  obeying  manhood's  law  had  "  put  away  childish 
things."  On  what  should  it  spend  itself?  It  had  lost  none  of  its 
strength  ;  while  his  fastidious  notions  of  excellence  and  a  far-reach 
ing  clear-sightedness  which  belonged  to  his  truth  of  nature,  greatly 
narrowed  the  sphere  of  its  possible  action.  He  could  not  delude  him 
self  into  the  bejief  that  the  oversight  of  his  plantations  and  the  per 
fecting  his  park  scenery  could  be  a  worthy  end  of  existence  ;  or  that 
painting  and  music  were  meant  to  be  the  stamina  of  life  ;  or  even 
that  books  were  their  own  final  cause.  These  things  had  refined 
and  enriched  him  ;— they  might  go  on  doing  so  to  the  end  of  his 
days — but  for  what?  For  what? 

It  is  said  that  everybody  has  his  niche,  failing  to  find  which  no 
body  fills  his  place  or  acts  his  part  in  society.  Mr.  Carleton  could 
riot  find  the  niche,  and  he  consequently  grew  dissatisfied  every 
where.  His  mother's  hopes  from  the  University  and  the  \Vorld, 
were  sadly  disappointed. 

At  the  University  he  had  not  lost  his  time.  The  pride  of  charac 
ter  which  joined  with  less  estimable  pride  of  birth  was  a  marked  feat 
ure  in  his  composition,  made  him  look  with  scorn  upon  the  ephem 
eral  pursuits  of  one  set  of  yoiwig  men  ;  while  his  strong  intellectual 
tastes  drew  him  in  the  other  direction ;  and  the  energetic  activity 
which  drove  him  to  do  everything  well  that  he  once  took  in  hand, 
carried  him  to  high  distinction.  Being  there  he  would  have  disdained 
to  be  anywhere  but  at  the  top  of  the  tree.  But  out  of  the  UhiversU 
and  in  possession  of  his  estates,  what  should  he  do  with  himself  and 
Ihem? 

A  question  eas^r  to  settle  by  most  young  men !  very  easy  to  settle 


QUEECB?.  & 

by  Guy,  if  he  had  had  the  clue  of  Christian  truth  to  guide  him 
through  the  labyrinth.  But  the  clue  was  wanting,  and  the  world 
seemed  to  him  a  world  of  confusion. 

A  certain  clearness  of  judgment  is  apt  to  be  the  blessed  handmaid 
of  uncommon  truth  of  character  ;  the  mind  that  knows  not  what  it 
is  to  play  tricks  upon  its  neighbors  is  rewarded  by  a  comparative 
freedom  from  self-deception.  Guy  could  not  sit  down  upon  his 
estates  and  lead  an  insect  life  like  that  recommended  by  Rossitur. 
His  energies  wanted  room  to  expend  themselves.  But  the  world 
offered  no  sphere  that  would  satisfy  him  ;  even  had  his  circum- 
^ances  and  position  laid  all  equally  open.  It  was  a  busy  world,  but 
io  him  people  seemed  to  be  busy  upon  trifles,  or  working  in  a  circle, 
or  working  mischief ;  and  his  nice  notions  of  what  ought  to  be  were 
shocked  by  what  he  saw  was,  in  every  direction  around  him.  He 
was  disgusted  with  what  he  called  the  drivelling  of  some  unhappy 
specimens  of  the  Church  which  had  come  in  his  way  ;  he  disbelieved 
the  truth  of  what  such  men  professed.  If  there  had  been  truth  in 
it,  he  thought,  they  would  deserve  t®  be  drummed  out  of  the  pro 
fession.  He  detested  the  crooked  involvments  and  double-dealing 
of  the  law.  He  despised  the  butterfly  life  of  a  soldier  ;  and  as  to 
the  other  side  of  a  soldier's  life,  again  he  thought,  what  is  it  for?— 
to  humor  the  arrogance  of  the  proud, — to  pamper  the  appetite  of  the 
full, — to  tighten  the  grip  of  the  iron  hand  of  power  ; — and  though  it 
be  sometimes  for  better  ends,  yet  the  soldier  cannot  choose  what 
letters  of  the  alphabet  of  obedience  he  will  learn.  Politics  was  the 
very  shaking  of  the  government  sieve,  where  if  there  were  any  solid 
result  it  was  accompanied  with  a  very  great  flying  about  of  chaff 
indeed.  Society  was  nothing  but  whip  syllabub, — a  mere  conglom 
eration  of  bubbles, — as  hollow  and  as  unsatisfying.  And  in  lower 
departments  of  human  life,  as  far  as  he  knew,  he  saw  evils  yet  more 
deplorable.  The  Church  played  at  shuttlecock  with  men's  credu- 
lousness,  the  law  with  their  purses,  the  medical  profession  with  their 
lives,  the  military  with  their  liberties  and  hopes.  He  acknowledged 
that  in  all  these  lines  of  action  there  was  much  talent,  much  good 
intention,  much  admirable  diligence  and  acuteness  brought  out — • 
but  to  what  great  general  end?  He  saw  in  short  that  the  machinery 
of  the  human  mind,  both  at  large  and  in  particular,  was  out  of  order. 
'  Je  did  not  know  what  was  the  broken  wheel  the  want  of  which  set 
Ui  the  rest  to  running  wrong. 

This  was  a  strange  train  of  thought  for  a  very  young  man  ;  but 
Guy  had  lived  much  alone,  and  in  solitude  one  is  like  a  person  whc 
has  climbed  a  high  mountain  ;  the  air  is  purer  about  him,  his  vision 
is  freer ;  the  eye  goes  straight  and  clear  to  the  distant  view  whick 
below  on  the  plain  a  thousand  things  would  come  between  to  inter 
cept.  But  there  was  some  morbidness  about  it  too.  Disappoint 
ment  in  two  or  three  instances  where  he  had  given  his  full  confi 
dence  and  been  obliged  to  take  it  back  had  quickened  him  to  gen 
eralize  unfavorably  upon  human  character,  both  in  the  mass  and  in 
individuals.  And  a  restless  dissatisfaction  with  himself  and  the 
world  did  not  tend  to  a  healthy  view  of  things.  Yet  truth  was  at 
the  bottom  ;  truth  rarely  arrived  at  without  the  help  of  revelation. 
He  discerned  a  want  he  did  not  know  how  to  supply.  His  fine  per- 


68   *  i  QUEECKY. 

ceptions  felt  the  jar  of  the  machinery  which  other  men  are  too  busy 
or  too  deaf  to  hear.     It  seemed  to  him  hopelessly  disordered. 

This  habit  of  thinking  wrought  a  change  veiy  unlike  what  his 
mother  had  looked  for.  He  mingled  more  in  society,  but  Mrs. 
Carleton  saw  that  the  eye  with  which  he  looked  upon  it  was  yet 
colder  than  it  wont  to  be.  A  cloud  came  over  the  light  gay  spirited 
manner  he  had  used  to  wear.  The  charm  of  his  address  was  as 
great  as  ever  where  he  pleased  to  show  it,  but  much  more  generally 
now  he  contented  himself  with  a  cool  reserve,  as  impossible  to  dis« 
turb  as  to  find  fault  with.  His  temper  suffered  the  same  eclipse,  i 
was  naturally  excellent.  His  passions  were  not  hastily  moved.  He 
had  never  been  easy  to  offend  ;  his  careless  good-humor  and  an 
unbounded  proud  self-respect  made  him  look  rather  with  contempt 
than  anger  upon  the  things  that  fire  most  men  ;  though  when  once 
moved  to  displeasure  it  was  stern  and  abiding  in  proportion  to  the 
depth  of  his  rharacter.  The  same  good-humor  and  cool  self-respect 
forbade  hitL.  even  then  to  be  eager  in  showing  resentment ;  the 
)ffender  fell  off  from  his  esteem  and  apparently  from  the  sphere  of 
ais  notice  as  easily  as  a  drop  of  water  from  a  duck's  wing,  and 
could  with  as  much  ease  regain  his  lost  lodgment ;  but  unless  there 
were  wrong  to  be  righted  or  truth  to  be  vindicated  he  was  in  general 
safe  from  any  further  tokens  of  displeasure.  In  those  cases  Mr. 
Carleton  was  an  adversary  to  be  dreaded.  As  cool,  as  unwavering, 
as  persevering  there  as  in  other  things,  he  there  as  in  other  things 
no  more  failed  of  his  end.  And  at  bottom  these  characteristics  re 
mained  the  same  ;  it  was  rather  his  humor  than  his  temper  that 
suffered  a  change.  That  grew  more  gioomy  and  less  gentle.  He 
was  more  easily  irritated  and  would  show  it  more  freely  than  in  the 
•)ld  happy  times  had  ever  been. 

Mrs.  Carleton  would  have  been  glad  to  have  those  times  back 
igain.  It  could  not  be.  Guy  could  not  be  content  any  longer  in 
the  Happy  Valley  of  Amhara.  Life  had  something  for  him  to  do 
beyond  his  park  palings.  He  had  carried  manly  exercises  and 
personal  accomplishments  to  an  uncommon  point  of  perfection  ;  he 
<ne\v  his  library  well  and  his  grounds  thoroughly,  and  had  made 
excellent  improvement  of  both  ;  it  was  in  vain  to  try  to  persuade 
him  that  seed-time  and  harvest  were  the  same  thing,  and  that  he 
had  nothing  to  do  but  to  rest  in  what  he  ha,"  v^e  ;  show  his  bright 
colors  and  flutter  like  a  moth  in  the  sunshine,  o.  sit  down  like  a  de 
generate  bee  in  the  summer  time  and  eat  his  own  honey.  The 
power  of  action  which  he  knew  in  himself  could  not  rest  without 
something  to  act  upon.  It  longed  to  be  doing. 

But  what? 

Conscience  is  often  morbidly  far-sighted.  Mr.  Carleton  had  a 
very  large  tenantry  around  him  and  depending  upon  him,  in  better 
ing  whose  condition,  if  he  Jhad  but  known  it,  all  those  energies 
might  have  found  full  play.  It  never  entered  into  his  head.  He 
abhorred  business, — the  detail  of  business  ;  and  his  fastidious  tastes 
especially  shrank  from  having  anything  to  do  among  those  whose 
business  was  literally  their  life.  The  eye  sensitively  fond  of  elegance, 
the  extreme  of  elegance,  in  everything,  and  permitting  no  other 
around  or  about  him,  c^uld  not  bear  the  tokens  of  mental  and 
bodily  wretchedness  among  the  ignorant  poor ;  ne  escaped  frow 


QUEECffT.  87 

Jbem  as  soon  as  possible  ;  thought  that  poverty  was  one  of  the  irregu 
larities  of  this  wrong-working  machine  of  a  world,  and  something 
utterly  beyond  his  power  to  do  away  or  alleviate  ;  and  left  to  his 
steward  all  the  responsibility  that  of  right  rested  on  his  own 
shoulders. 

And  at  last  unable  to  content  himself  in  the  old  routine  of  things 
he  quitted  home  and  England,  even  before  he  was  of  age,  and  roved 
from  place  to  place,  trying  and  trying  in  vain,  to  soothe  the  vagae 
teitlessness  that  called  for  a  very  different  remedy. 

•*  On  change  de  ciel, — 1'on  ne  change  point  de  soi." 


CHAPTER  X. 

Faire  Christabelle,  that  ladye  bright. 

Was  had  forth  of  the  towre : 
But  ever  she  droopeth  in  her  minde, 
As,  nipt  by  an  ungentle  winde, 

Doth  some  faire  lillye  flowre. 

SYR  CAULINE. 

THAT  evening,  the  last  of  their  stay  at  Montepoole,  Fleda  was 
thought  well  enough  to  take  her  tea  in  company.  So  Mr.  Carleton 
carried  her  down,  though  she  could  have  walked,  and  placed  her 
on  the  sola  in  the  parlor. 

Whatever  dispositions  the  young  officers  might  byve  felt  to  renew 
their  pleasantry  on  the  occasion,  it  was  shamed  into  silence.  There 
was  a  pure  dignity  about  that  little  pale  face  which  protected  itself. 
They  were  quite  struck  and  Fleda  had  no  reason  to  complain  of 
want  of  attention  from  any  of  the  party.  Mr.  Evelyn  kissed  her. 
Mr.  Thorn  brought  a  little  table  to  the  side  of  the  sofa  for  her  cup 
of  tea  to  stand  on,  and  handed  her  the  toast  most  dutifully  ;  and  her 
cousin  Rossitur  went  back  and  forth  between  her  and  the  tea-urn. 
All  of  the  ladies  seemed  to  take  immense  satisfaction  in  looking  at 
her,  they  did  it  so  much  ;  standing  about  the  hearth-rug  with  their 
cups  in  their  hands,  sipping  their  tea.  Fleda  was  quite  touched 
with  everybody's  kindness,  but  somebody  at  the  back  of  the  sofa 
whom  she  did  not  see  was  the  greatest  comfort  of  all. 

"  You  must  let  me  carry  you  up-stai^s  when  you  go,  Fleda,"  »aid 
her  cousin.  "  I  shall  grow  quite  jealous  of  your  friend  Mr.  Carle- 
ton." 

"  No,"  said  Fleda  smiling  a  little,--"  I  shall  not  let  anyone  but 
him  carry  me  up, — if  he  will." 

••  We  shall  all  grow  jealous  of  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Thorn.  "  He 
means  to  monopolize  you,  keeping  you  shut  up  there,  upstairs." 

"  He  didn't  keep  me  shut  up,"  said  Fleda. 

Mr.  Carleton  was  welcome  to  monopolize  her,  if  it  depended  on 
her  vote. 

"  Not  fair  play,  Carleton,"  continued  the  young  officer  wisely 
shaking  his  head, — '•  all  start  alike,  or  there's  no  fun  m  the  race. 
You've  fairly  distanced  us — left  us  nowhere." 

He  might  have  talked  Chinese  and  been  as  intelligible  to  Fleda, — 
and  as  interesting  to  Guy,  for  all  that  appeared. 

••  How  are  we  going  to  proceed  to-morrow,  Mr.  Evelyn  ?  "   said 


&:  QUEECST. 

Mrs.  Carleton.  "  Has  the  missing  stage-coach  returned  >ecf  or  wjfc 
h  be  forthcoming  in  the  morning  ?  " 

"  Promised,  Mrs.  Carleton.  The  landlord's  faith  stands  pledged 
for  it." 

"  Then  it  won't  disappoint  us,  of  course.  What  a  dismal  way  of 
traveling !  " 

"  This  young  country  hasn't  grown  up  to  post-coaches  yet,"  said 
Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"  How  many  will  it  hold  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Carleton. 

"  Hum  ! — Nine  inside,  I  suppose." 

•'  And  we  number  ten,  with  the  servants." 

"  Tust  take  us."  said  Mr.  Evelyn,  "  There's  room  on  the  box  for 
one.  ' 

"  It  will  not  take  me,"  said  Mr.  Carleton. 

"  How  will  you  go  ?  ride  ?  "  said  his  mother.  "  I  should  think 
you  would,  since  you  have  found  a  horse  you  like  so  well." 

"  By  George  !  I  wish  there  was  another  that  /  liked,"  said  Ros- 
situr,  "and  I'd  go  on  horseback  too.  Such  weather !  The  land 
lord  says  it's  the  beginning  of  Indian  summer." 

"It's  too  early  for  that,"  said  Thorn. 

"  Well,  eight  inside  will  do  very  well  for  one  day,"  said  Mrs.  Carle- 
ton.  "  That  will  give  little  Fleda  a  little  more  space  to  lie  at  her 
ease." 

"  You  may  put  Fleda  out  of  your  calculations  too,  mother,"  said 
Mr.  Carleton.  "  I  will  take  care  of  her." 

"How  in  the  world,"  exclaimed  his  mother, — "if  you  are  on 
horseback?" 

And  Fleda  twisted  herself  round  so  as  to  give  a  look  of  bright  in 
quiry  at  his  face.  She  got  no  answer  beyond  a  smile,  which  how 
ever  completely  satisfied  her.  As  to  the  rest  he  told  his  mother 
that  he  had  arranged  it  and  they  should  see  in  the  morning.  Mrs. 
Carleton  was  far  from  being  at  ease  on  the  subject  of  his  arrange 
ments,  but  she  let  the  matter  drop. 

Fleda  was  secretly  very  much  pleased.  She  thought  she  would 
a  great  deal  rather  go  with  Mr.  Carleton  in  the  little  waf ,  .  than  in 
the  stage-coach  with  the  rest  of  the  people.  Privately  she  did  not  at 
all  admire  Mr.  Thorn  or  her  cousin  Rossitur.  They  amused  her 
though  ;  and  feeling  very  much  better  and  stronger  in  body,  and  at 
least  quiet  in  mind,  she  sat  in  tolerable  comfort  on  her  sofa,  looking 
and  listening  to  the  people  who  were  gayly  talking  around  her. 

In  the  gaps  of  talk  she  sometimes  thought  she  heard  a  distressed 
sound  in  the  hall.  The  buzz  of  tongues  covered  it  up, — then  again 
she  heard  it, — and  she  was  sure  at  last  that  it  was  the  voice  of  a  dog. 
Never  came  an  appeal  in  vain  from  any  four-footed  creature  to 
Fleda's  heart.  All  the  rest  being  busy  with  their  own  affairs,  she 
quietly  got  up  and  opened  the  door  and  looked  out,  and  finding  that 
she  was  right  went  softly  into  the  hall.  In  one  corner  lay  her  cousin 
Rossitur' s  beautiful  black  pointer,  which  she  well  remembered  and 
had  greatly  admired  several  times.  The  poor  creature  was  every 
now  and  then  uttering  short  cries,  in  a  manner  as  if  he  would  not 
but  they  were  forced  from  him. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  him?"  asked  Fleda,  stepping  fearfully 
toward  the  doer-  and  speaking  to  Mr.  Carleton  who  had  come  out  tc 


QUEECffY.  8ft 

look  after  her.  As  she  spoke  the  dog  rose  and  came  crouching  and 
wagging  his  tail  to  meet  them. 

"  O  Mr.  Carleton  !  "  Fleda  almost  screamed. — "look  at  him! 
O  what  is  the  matter  with  him  !  he's  all  over  bloody  !  Poor  creat 
ure  !  " — 

"  You  must  ask  your  cousin,  Fleda,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  with  as 
much  cold  disgust  in  his  countenance  as  it  often  expressed  ;  and  that 
is  saying  a  good  deal. 

Fleda  could  speak  In  the  cause  of  a  dog,  where  she  would  have 
3een  silent  in  her  own.  She  went  back  to  the  parlor  and  begged 
tier  cousin  with  a  face  of  distress  to  come  out  into  the  hall, — she  did 
not  say  for  what.  Both  he  and  Thorn  followed  her.  Rossitur's  face 
darkened  as  Fleda  repeated  her  enquiry,  her  heart  so  full  by  this 
time  as  hardly  to  allow  her  to  make  any. 

"Why  the  dog  didn't  do  his  duty  and  has  been  punished,"  he 
said  gloomily. 

*  Punished?"  said  Fleda. 

"Shot,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  coolly. 

MShot!"  exclaimed  Fleda,  bursting  into  heartwrung  tears,— 
"Shot! — O  how  could  any  one  do  it!  Oh  how  could  you,  how 
how  could  you,  cousin  Charlton?" 

It  was  a  picture.  The  child  was  crying  bitterly,  her  fingers 
stroking  the  poor  dog's  head  with  a  touch  in  which  lay,  O  what 
tender  healing,  if  the  will  had  but  had  magnetic  power.  Carleton' s 
eye  glanced  significantly  from  her  to  the  young  officers.  Rossitur 
looked  at  Thorn. 

"  It  was  not  Charlton — it  was  I,  Miss  Fleda,"  said  the  latter. 
••  Charlton  lent  him  to  me  to-day,  and  he  disobeyed  me,  and  so  I 
was  angry  with  him  and  punished  him  a  little  severely  ;  but  he'll 
soon  get  over  it." 

But  all  Fleda's  answer  was,  "I  am  very  sorry! — I  am  very 
sorry  ! — poor  dog  !  !  " — and  to  weep  such  tears  as  made  the  young 
gentlemen  for  once  ashamed  of  themselves.  It  almost  did  the  child 
a  mischief.  She  did  not  get  over  it  all  the  evening.  And  she  never 
got  over  it  as  far  as  Mr.  Thorn  was  concerned. 

Mrs.  Carleton  hoped,  faintly,  that  Guy  would  come  to  reason  by 
the  next  .,  «rning  and  let  Fleda  go  in  the  stage-coach  with  the  rest 
of  the  people.  But  he  was  as  unreasonable  as  ever,  and  stuck  to 
iij  purpose.  She  had  supposed,  however,  with  Fleda,  that  the 
lifference  would  be  only  an  open  vehicle  and  his  company  instead 
3f  a  covered  one  and  her  own.  Both  of  them  were  sadly  discom 
fited  \*toen  on  coming  to  the  hall  door  to  take  their  carriages  it  was 
found  that  Mr.  Carleton' s  meaning  was  no  less  than  to  take  Fleda 
before  him  on  horseback.  He  was  busy  even  then  in  arranging  a 
cushion  on  the  pommel  of  the  saddle  for  her  to  sit  upon.  Mrs. 
Carleton  burst  into  indignant  remonstrances  ;  Fleda  silently 
trembled. 

But  Mr.  Carleton  had  his  own  notions  on  the  subject,  and  they 
were  not  moved  by  anything  his  mother  could  say.  He  quietly 
went  on  with  his  preparations  ;  taking  very  slight  notice  of  the  rail 
lery  of  the  young  officers,  answering  Mrs.  Evelyn  with  polite  words, 
and  silencing  his  mother  as  he  came  up  with  one  of  those  looks  out 
of  his  dark  eyes  to  which  she  always  forgave  the  wilfulness  for  the 


•0  QUEECHY. 

sake  of  the  beauty  and  the  winning  power.  She  was  completely 
conquered,  and  stepped  back  with  even  a  smile. 

"  But  Carleton  !  "  cried  Rossitur  impatiently,—"  you  can't  ride 
so  !  you'll  find  it  deucedly  inconvenient." 

"  Possibly,"  said  Mr.  Carleton. 

"  Fleda  would  be  a  great  deal  better  off  in  the  stage-coach.  ' 

"  Have  you  studied  medicine,  Mr.  Rossitur?"  said  the  young 
man.  "  Because  I  am  persuaded  of  the  contrary." 

"  I  don't  believe  your  horse  will  like  it,"  said  Thorn. 

"  My  horse  is  always  of  my  mind,  sir  ;  or  if  he  be  not  I  generally 
succeed  in  convincing  him." 

"  But  there  is  somebody  else  that  deserves  to  be  consulted,"  said 
Mrs.  Thorn.  "  I  wonder  how  little  Fleda  will  like  it." 

"  I  will  ask  her  when  we  get  to  our  first  stopping-place,"  said  Mr. 
Carleton  smiling.  "  Come,  Fleda  !  " 

Fleda  would  hardly  have  said  a  word  if  his  purpose  had  been  to 
put  her  under  the  horse's  feet  instead  of  on  his  back.  But  she  came 
forward  with  great  unwillingness  and  a  very  tremulous  little  heart. 
He  must  have  understood  the  want  of  alacrity  in  her  face  and 
manner,  though  he  took  no  notice  of  it  otherwise  than  by  the  gentle 
kindness  with  which  he  led  her  to  the  horse-block  and  placed  her 
upon  it.  Then  mounting,  and  riding  the  horse  up  close  to  the 
block,  he  took  Fleda  in  both  hands  tand  bidding  her  spring,  in  a 
moment  she  was  safely  seated  before  him. 

At  first  it  seemed  dreadful  to  Fleda  to  have  that  great  horse's 
head  so  near  her,  and  she  was  afraid  that  her  feet  touching  him 
would  excite  his  most  serious  disapprobation.  However,  a  minute 
or  so  went  by  and  she  could  not  see  that  his  tranquillity  seemed  to 
be  at  all  ruffled,  or  even  that  he  was  sensible  of  her  being  upon  his 
shoulders.  They  waited  to  see  the  stage-coach  off,  and  then  gently 
set  forward.  Fleda  feared  very  much  again  when  she  felt  the  horse 
moving  under  her,  easy  as  his  gait  was,  and  looking  after  the  stage 
coach  in  the  distance,  now  beyond  call,  she  felt  a  little  as  if  she  was 
a  great  way  from  help  and  dry  land,  cast  away  on  a  horse's  back. 
But  Mr.  Carleton's  arm  was  gently  passed  round  her,  and  she  knew 
it  held  her  safely  and  would  not  let  her  fall  ;  and  he  bent  down  his 
face  to  her  and  asked  her  so  kindly  and  tenderly,  and  with  such  a 
look  too,  that  seemed  to  laugh  at  her  fears,  whether  she  felt  afraid  ? 
—and  with  such  a  kind  little  pressure  of  his  arm  that  promised  to 
take  care  of  her, — that  Fleda's  courage  mounted  twenty  degrees  at 
once.  And  it  rose  higher  every  minute  ;  the  horse  went  very  easily, 
and  Mr.  Carleton  held  her  so  that  she  could  not  be  tired,  and  made 
her  lean  against  him  ;  and  before  they  had  gone  a  mile  Fleda  began 
to  be  deiighted.  Such  a  charming  way  of  traveling  !  Such  a  free 
view  of  the  country  ! — and  in  this  pleasant  weather  too,  neither  hot 
nor  cold,  and  when  all  nature's  feature's  were  softened  by  the  light 
veil  of  haze  that  hung  over  them  and  kept  off  the  sun's  glare.  Mr. 
Carleton  was  right.  In  the  stage-coach  Fleda  would  have  sat  quiet 
in  a  corner  and  moped  the  time  sadly  away  ;  now  she  was  roused, 
excited,  intarested,  even  cheerful ;  forgetting  herself,  which  was  the 
very  thing  of  all  others  to  be  desired  for  her.  She  lost  her  fears ; 
sUe  was  willing  to  have  the  horse  trot  or  canter  as  fast  as  his  ridef 
pleased  ;  but  the  trotting  was  too  rough  for  her,  so  they  cantered  of 


QUEECHY.  91 

paced  along  most  of  the  time,  when  the  hills  did  not  oblige  them  to 
walk  quietly  up  and  down,  which  happened  pretty  often.  For 
several  miles  the  country  was  not  very  familiar  to  Fleda.  It  was 
however  extremely  picturesque  ;  and  she  sat  silently  and  gravely 
looking  at  it,  her  head  lying  upon  Mr.  Carleton's  breast,  her  little 
mind  very  full  of  thoughts  and  musings,  curious,  deep,  sometimes 
sorrowful,  but  not  unhappy. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  tire  you,  Mr.  Carleton  !  "  said  she  in  a  sudden  fit 
of  recollection,  starting  up. 

His  look  answered  her,  and  his  arm  drew  her  back  to  her  place 
again. 

"  Are  you  not  tired,  Elfie  ?  " 

"Oh  no  ! You  have  got  a  new  name  for  me,  Mr.  Carleton," 

said  she  a  moment  after,  looking  up  and  smiling. 

"  Do  you  like  it  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"You  are  my  good  genius,"  said  he,— "  so  I  must  have  a  pe 
culiar  title  for  you,  different  from  what  other  people  know  you  by." 

"  What  is  a  genius,  sir  ?  "  said  Fleda. 

•'  Well  a  sprite  then,"  said  he  smiling. 

"  A  sprite  !  "  said  Fleda. 

"  I  have  read  a  story  of  a  lady,  Elfie,  who  had  a  great  many  little 
unearthly  creatures,  a  kind  of  sprites,  to  attend  upon  her.  Some 
sat  in  the  ringlets  of  her  hair  and  took  charge  of  them  ;  some  hid  in 
the  folds  of  ker  dress  and  made  them  lie  gracefully  ;  another  lodged 
in  a  dimple  in  her  cheek,  and  another  perched  on  her  eyebrows, 
and  so  on." 

"  To  take  care  of  her  eyebrows  ?  "  said  Fleda  laughing. 

««  Yes — to  smooth  out  all  the  ill-humored  wrinkles  and  frowns,  I 
suppose." 

"  But  am  I  such  a  sprite?"  said  Fleda. 

"  Something  like  it." 

"  Why  what  do  I  do?"  said  Fleda,  rousing  herself  in  a  mixture 
of  gratification  and  amusement  that  was  pleasant  to  behold. 

"  What  office  would  you  choose,  Elfie  ?  what  good  would  you 
like  to  do  me  ?  " 

It  was  a  curious  wistful  look  with  which  Fleda  answered  this 
question,  an  innocent  look,  in  which  Mr.  Carlton  read  perfectly  that 
she  felt  something  was  wanting  in  him,  and  did  not  know  exactly 
what.  His  smile  almost  made  her  think  she  had  been  mistaken. 

"  You   are  just  the  sprite  you  would  wish  to  be,  Elfie,"  he  said. 

Fleda' s  head  took  its  former  position,  and  she  sat  for  some  time 
musing  over  his  question  and  answer,  till  a  familiar  waymark  pul 
all  such  thoughts  to  flight.  They  were  passing  Deepwater  Lakes 
and  would  presently  be  at  aunt  Miriam's.  Fleda  looked  now  with 
a  beating  heart.  Every  foot  of  ground  was  known  to  her.  She  waf 
seeing  it  perhaps  for  the  last  time.  It  was  with  even  an  intensity  c« 
eagerness  that  she  watched  every  point  and  turn  of  the  landscape, 
endeavoring  to  lose  nothing  in  her  farewell  view,  to  give  her  fare 
well  look  at  every  favorite  clump  of  trees  and  old  rock,  and  at  the 
very  mill-wheels,  which  for  years  whether  working  or  at  rest  had 
had  such  interest  for  her.  If  tears  came  to  bid  their  good-by  too, 
they  were  hastily  thrown  off,  or  suffered  to  roll  quietly  down  ;  thej 


«2  QUEECHf. 

might  bide  their  time  ;  but  eyes  must  look  now  or  never.  Ho* 
pleasant,  how  pleasant,  the  quiet  old  country  seemed  to  Fleda  a<? 
as  they  went  along  ! — in  that  most  quiet  light  and  coloring  ;  the 
brightness  of  the  autumn  glory  gone,  and  the  sober  warm  hue 
which  the  hills  still  wore  seen  under  the  hazy  veil.  All  the  home- 
like  peace  of  the  place  was  spread  out  to  make  it  hard  going  away. 
Would  she  ever  see  any  other  so  pleasant  again  ?  Those  dear  old 
hills  and  fields,  among  which  she  had  been  so  happy, — they  were 
not  to  be  her  home  any  more ;  would  she  ever  have  the  same  sweet 
happiness  anywhere  else? — "The  Lord  will  provide!'  though' 
'little  Fleda  with  swimming  eyes. 

It  was  hard  to  go  by  aunt  Miriam's.  Fleda  eagerly  looked,  a« 
well  as  she  could,  but  no  one  was  to  be  seen  about  the  house,  li 
was  just  as  well.  A  sad  gush  of  tears  must  come  then,  but  she  got 
rid  of  them  as  soon  as  possible,  that  she  might  not  lose  the  rest  of 
the  way,  promising  them  another  time.  The  little  settlement  on 
"the  hill"  was  passed, — the  factories  and  mills  and  mill-ponds, 
one  after  the  other  ;  they  made  Fleda  feel  very  badly,  for  here  she 
remembered  going  with  her  grandfather  to  see  the  work,  and  there 
she  had  stopped  with  him  at  the  turner's  shop  to  get  a  wooden 
bowl  turned,  and  there  she  had  been  with  Cynthy  when  shie  went 
to  visit  an  acquaintance  ;  and  there  never  was  a  happier  little  girl 
than  Fleda  had  been  in  those  old  times.  All  gone  ! — It  was  no  use 
trying  to  tyelp  it  ;  Fleda  put  her  two  hands  to  her  face  and  cried  at 
last  a  silent  but  not  the  less  bitter  leave-taking  of  thewshadows  of 
the  past. 

She  forced  herself  into  quiet  again,  resolved  to  look  to  the  last. 
As  they  were  going  down  the  hill  past  the  saw-mill  Mr.  Carleton 
noticed  that  her  head  was  stretched  out  to  look  back  at  it,  with  an 
expression  of  face  he  could  not  withstand.  He  wheeled  about  im 
mediately  and  went  back  and  stood  opposite  to  it.  The  mill  was 
not  working  to-day.  The  saw  was  standing  still,  though  there  were 
plenty  of  huge  trunks  of  trees  lying  about  in  all  directions  waiting 
to  be  cut  up.  There  was  a  desolate  look  of  the  place.  No  one  was 
there  ;  the  little  brook,  most  of  its  waters  cut  off,  did  not  go  roaring 
and  laughing  down  the  hill,  but  trickled  softly  and  plaintively  over 
the  stones.  It  seemed  exceeding  sad  to  Fleda. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Carleton,"  she  said  after  a  little  earnest  fond 
looking  at  her  old  haunt ; — "  you  needn't  stay  any  longer," 

But  as  soon  as  they  had  crossed  the  little  rude  bridge  at  the  foot 
of  the  hill  they_could  see  the  poplar  trees  which  skirted  the  court 
yard  fence  before  her  grandfather's  house.  Poor  Fleda' s  eyes 
could  hardly  serve  her.  She  managed  to  keep  them  open  till  the 
horse  had  made  a  few  steps  more  and  she  had  caught  the  well- 
known  face  of  the  old  house  looking  at  her  through  the  poplars. 
Her  fortitude  failed,  and  bowing  her  little  head  she  wept  so  exceed 
ingly  that  Mr.  Carleton  was  fain  to  draw  bridle  and  try  to  comfort 
her. 

"  My  dear  Elfie  ! — do  not  weep  so,"  he  said  tenderly. 

"Is  there  anything  you  would  like? — Can  I  do  anything  foi 
fou  ? ff 

He  had  to  wait  a  little.     He  repeated  his  first  query. 

"  O — it's  no  matter,"  said  Fleda,  striving  to  conquer  her  tears. 


QUEECffT.  99 

which  found  their  way  again, — "  if  I  only  could  have  gone  into  th« 
house  once  more  ! — but  it's  no  matter — you  needn't  wait,  Mr.  Carle- 
ton — " 

The  horse  however  remained  motionless. 

"Do  you  think  you  would  feel  better,  Elfie,  if  you  had  seen  it 
again  ?  " 

"Oh  yes! But  never  mind,  Mr.  Carleton, — you  may  go  on.** 

Mr.  Carleton  ordered  his  servant  to  open  the  gate,  and  rode  up 
lo  the  back  of  the  house. 

"  I  am  afraid  there  is  nobody  here,  Elfie,"  he  said  ; — "the  houst 
ieems  all  shut  up." 

"  I  know  how  I  can  get  in,"  said  Fleda, — "  there's  a  windov: 
down  stairs — I  don't  believe  it  is  fastened, — if  you  wouldn't  mind 
waiting,  Mr.  Carleton, — I  won't  keep  you  long  ?  " 

The  child  had  dried  her  tears,  and  there  was  the  eagerness  of 
something  like  hope  in  her  face.  Mr.  Carleton  dismounted  and 
took  her  off. 

"  I  must  -find  a  way  to  get  in  too,  Elfie, — I  cannot  let  you  go 
alone." 

"  O  I  can  open  the  door  when  I  get  in,"  said  Fleda. 

"  But  you  have  not  the  key." 

"There's  no  key — it's  only  bolted  on  the  inside,  that  door.  I 
can  open  it." 

She  found  the  window  unfastened,  as  she  had  expected  ;  Mr. 
Carleton  held  it  open  while  she  crawled  in  and  then  she  undid  the 
door  for  him.  He  more  than  half  questioned  the  wisdom  of  his 
proceeding.  The  house  had  a  dismal  look  ;  cold,  empty,  deserted, 
— it  was  a  dreary  reminder  of  Fleda' s  loss,  and  he  feared  the  effect 
of  it  would  be  anything  but  good.  He  followed  and  watched  her, 
as  with  an  eager  business  step  she  went  through  the  hall  and  up 
the  stairs,  putting  her  head  into  every  room  and  giving  an  earnest 
wistful  look  all  round  it.  Here  and  there  she  weut  in  and  stood  a 
momenj.  where  associations  were  more  thick  and  strong  ;  some 
times  talcing  a  look  out  of  a  particular  window,  and  even  opening  a 
cupboard  door,  to  give  that  same  kind  and  sorrowful  glance  of  rec 
ognition  at  the  old  often-resorted-to  hiding-place  of  her  own  or  her 
grandfather's  treasures  and  trumpery.  Those  old  corners  seemed 
to  touch  Fleda  more  than  all  the  rest ;  and  she  turned  away  from 
one  of  them  with  a  face  of  such  extreme  sorrow  that  Mr.  Carletoc 
very  much  regretted  he  had  brought  her  into  the  house.  For  her 
sake, — for  his  own,  it  was  a  curious  show  of  character.  Though 
tears  were  sometimes  streaming,  she  made  no  delay  and  gave  him 
no  trouble  ;  with  the  calm  steadiness  of  a  woman  she  went  regularly 
through  the  house,  leaving  no  place  unvisited,  but  never  obliging 
him  to  hasten  her  away.  She  said  not  a  word  during  the  whole 
time  ;  her  very  crying  was  still  ;  the  light  tread  of  her  little  feet  was 
the  only  sound  in  the  silent  empty  rooms  ;  and  the  noise  of  their 
footsteps  in  the  halls  and  of  the  opening  and  shutting  doors  echoed 
mournfully  through  the  house. 

She  had  left  her  grandfather's  room  for  the  last.  Mr.  Carleton 
did  not  follow  her  in  there,  guessing  that  she  would  rather  be  alone, 
I3ut  she  did  not  come  back,  and  he  was  forced  to  go  to  fetch  her. 

The  chill  desolateness  of  that  room  had  been  too  much  for  poot 


94  QUEECHY. 

little  Fleda.  The  empty  bedstead,  the  cold  stove,  the  table  bare 
of  books,  only  one  or  two  lay  upon  the  old  bible,— the  forlorn 
order  of  the  place  that  bespoke  the  master  far  away,  the  very  sun 
beams  that  stole  in  at  the  little  windows  and  met  now  no  answering 
look  of  gladness  or  gratitude, — it  had  struck  the  child's  heart  too 
heavily,  and  she  was  standing  crying  by  the  window.  A  second 
time  in  that  room  Mr.  Carleton  sat  down  and  drew  his  little  charge 
to  his  breast  and  spoke  words  of  soothing  and  sympathy. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  I  brought  you  here,  dear  Erne,"  he  said 
kindly.  "  It  was  too  hard  for  you." 

"O  no!  " — even  through  her  tears  Fleda  said, — "she  was  ver^ 
glad!" 

"  Hadn't  we  better  try  to  overtake  our  friends?"  he  whispered 
after  another  pause. 

She  immediately,  almost  immediately,  put  away  her  tears,  and 
with  a  quiet  obedience  that  touched  him  went  with  him  from  the 
room  ;  fastened  the  door  and  got  out  again  at  the  little  window. 

"O  Mr.  Carleton!"  she  said  with  great  earnestness  when  they 
had  almost  reached  the  horses,  "  won't  you  wait  for  me  one  minute 
more  ? — I  just  want  a  piece  of  the  burning  bush" — 

Drawing  her  hand  from  him  she  rushed  round  to  the  front  of  the 
house.  A  little  more  slowly  Mr.  Carleton  followed,  and  found  her 
under  the  burning  bush,  tugging  furiously  at  a  branch  beyond  her 
strength  to  break  off. 

"That's  too  much  for  you,  Elfie,"  said  he,  gently  taking  her 
hand  from  the  tree, — "  let  my  hand  try." 

She  stood  back  and  watched,  tears  running  down  her  face,  while 
he  got  a  knife  from  his  pocket  and  cut  off  the  piece  she  had  been 
trying  for,  nicely,  and  gave  it  to  her.  The  first  movement  of 
Fleda's  head  was  down,  bent  over  the  pretty  spray  of  red  berries ; 
but  by  the  time  she  stood  at  the  horse's  side  she  looked  up  at  Mr. 
Carleton  and  thanked  him  with  a  face  of  more  than  thankfulness. 

She  was  crying  however,  constantly,  till  they  had  gon^several 
miles  on  their  way  again,  and  Mr.  Carleton  doubted  he  hid  done 
wrong.  It  passed  away,  and  she  had  been  sitting  quite  peacefully 
for  some  time,  when  he  told  her  they  were  near  the  place  where 
they  were  to  stop  and  join  their  friends.  She  looked  up  most  grate 
fully  in  his  faoe. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Carleton,  for  what  you  did  1  * 

"  I  was  afraid  I  had  made  a  mistake,  Elfie." 

"Oh  no  you  didn't." 

"  Do  you  think  you  feel  any  easier  after  it,  Elfie?  " 

'•Oh  yes! — indeed  I  do,"  said  she  looking  up  again, — "thank 
you,  Mr.  Carleton." 

A  gentle  kind  pressure  of  his  arm  answered  her  thanks. 

"I  ought  to  be  a  good  sprite  to  you,  Mr.  Carleton,"  Fleda  said 
after  musing  a  little  while, — "you  are  so  very  good  to  me !  " 

Perhaps  Mr.  Carleton  felt '  too  mucrf  pleasure  at  this  speech  to 
make  any  answer,  for  he  made  none. 

"  It  is  only  selfishness,  Elfie,"  said  he  presently,  looking  down 
to  the  quiet  sweet  little  face  which  seemea  to  him,  and  was,  more 
oure  than  anything  of  earth's  mold  he  had  ever  seen. — "  You  know 
I  must  take  care  of  you  for  my  own  sake." 


QUEECHY.  W 

Fleda  laughed  a  little. 

11  But  what  will  you  do  when  we  get  to  Paris  ?*' 

"  I  don't  know.     I  should  like  to  have  you  always,  Elfie." 

"  You  11  have  to  get  aunt  Lucy  to  give  me  to  you,"  said  Fleda. 

"  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  she  a  few  minutes  after,— "is  that  story  k 
£,  book  ? ' ' 

"What  story  ?" 

"  About  the  lady  and  the  little  sprites  that  waited  on  her." 

••  Yes,  it  is  in  a  book  ;  you  shall  see  it,  Elfie. — Here  we  are !  " 

And  here  it  was  proposed  to  stay  till  the  next  day,  lest  Fleds 
might  not  be  able  to  bear  so  much  traveling  at  first.  But  the 
country  inn  was  not  found  inviting  ;  the  dinner  was  bad  and  th« 
rooms  were  worse ;  uninhabitable,  the  ladies  said  ;  and  about  th^ 
middle  of  the  afternoon  they  began  to  cast  about  for  the  means 
of  reaching  Albany  that  night.  None  very  comfortable  could  be 
had ;  however  it  was  thought  better  to  push  on  at  any  rate  than 
wear  out  the  night  in  such  a  place.  The  weather  was  very  mild  ; 
the  moon  at  the  full. 

"  How  is  Fleda  to  go  this  afternoon?"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"  She  shall  decide  herself,'1  said  Mrs.  Carleton.  "  How  will  you 
go,  my  sweet  Fleda?  " 

Fleda  was  lying  upon  a  sort  of  rude  couch  which  had  been  spread 
for  her,  where  she  had  been  sleeping  incessantly  ever  since  she 
arrived,  the  hour  of  dinner  alone  excepted.  Mrs.  Carleton  re 
peated  her  question. 

"  I  am  afraid  Mr.  Carleton  must  be  tired,"  said  Fleda,  without 
opening  her  eyes. 

"That  means  that  you  are,  don't  it?"  said  Rossitur. 

"No,"  said  Fleda  gently. 

Mr.  Carleton  smiled  and  went  out  to  press  forward  the  arrange 
ments.  In  spite  of  good  words  and  good  money  there  was  some 
delay.  It  was  rather  late  before  the  cavalcade  left  the  inn  ;  and  a 
journey  of  several  hours  was  before  them.  Mr.  Carleton  rode 
rather  slowly  too,  for  Fleda' s  sake,  s<5  the  evening  had  fallen  while 
they  were  yet  a  mile  or  two  from  the  city. 

His  little  charge  had  borne  the  fatigue  well,  thanks  partly  to  his 
admirable  care,  and  partly  to  her  quiet  pleasure  in  being  with  him. 
She  had  been  so  perfectly  still  for  some  distance  that  he  thought 
she  had  dropped  asleep.  Looking  down  closer  however  to  make 
sure  about  it  he  saw  her  thoughtful  clear  eyes  most  unsleepily  fixec 
upon  the  sky. 

"  What  are  you  gazing  at,  Elfie  ?  " 

The  look  of  thought  changed  to  a  look  of  affection  as  the 
eyes  were  brought  to  bear  upon  him,  and  she  answered  with  a  smile. 

"  Nothing, — I  was  looking  at  the  stars." 
•What  are  you  dreaming  about?  " 

"  I  wasn't  dreaming,"  said  Fleda, — "  I  was  thinking." 

"Thinking  of  what?" 

"O  of  pleasant  things." 

"  Mayn't  I  know  them  ? — I  like  to  hear  of  pleasant  things." 

"  I  was  thinking, — "  said   Fleda,  looking   up  again  at  the  stars, 
which  shone  with  no  purer  ray  than  those  grave  eyes  sent  baek  to 
Jem, — "  I  was  thinking — of  being  ready  to  die." 


tt  QUEECHY. 

The  words,  and  the  calm  thoughtful  manner  in  which  they  were 
said,  thrilled  upon  Mr.  Carleton  with  a  disagreeable  shock. 

"  How  came  you  to  think  of  such  a  thing  ?  "   said  he  lightly. 

"  I  don't  know," — said  Fleda,  still  looking  at  the  stars, — "  I  sup* 
pose — I  was  thinking — " 

"What?"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  inexpressibly  curious  to  get  at 
the  workings  of  the  child's  mind,  which  was  not  easy,  for  Fleda 
was  never  ve/y  forward  to  talk  of  herself; — "  what  were  you  think« 
ing?  I  want  to  know  how  you  could  get  such  a  thing  into  youi 
head." 

"It  wasn't  very  strange,"  said  Fleda.  "The  stars  made  me 
ihink  of  heaven,  and  grandpa's  being  there,  and  then  I  thought 
how  he  was  ready  to  go  there  and  that  made  him  ready  to 
die—" 

"I  wouldn't  think  of  such  things,  Elfie,"  said  Mr.  Carleton 
after  a  few  minutes. 

"Why  not,  sir?"  said  Fleda  quickly. 

"  I  don't  think  they  are  good  for  you." 

"  But  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Fleda  gently, — "  if  I  don't  jhink  about 
it,  how  shall  /  ever  be  ready  to  die  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  fit  for  you,"  said  he  evading  the  question, — "  it  is  not 
necessary  now, — there's  time  enough.  You  are  a  little  body  and 
should  have  none  but  gay  thoughts." 

"But  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Fleda  with  timid  earnestness, — "  don't 
you  .think  one  could  have  gay  thoughts  better  'f  one  knew  one  was 
ready  to  die?  " 

"What  makes  a  person  ready  to  die,  Elfie?"  said  her  friend, 
disliking  to  ask  the  question,  but  yet  more  unable  to  answer  hers, 
and  curious  to  hear  what  she  would  say. 

"  O — to  be  a  Christian,"  said  Fleda. 

"But  I  have  seen  Christians,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  "  who  were  no 
more  ready  to  die  than  other  people." 

"Then  they  were  make-believe  Christians,"  said  Fleda  de 
cidedly. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so?  "  said  her  friend,  carefully  guarding 
his  countenance  from  anything  like  a  smile. 

•"Because,"  said  Fleda,  "grandpa  was  ready,  and  my  father 
^as  ready,  and  my  mother  too  ;  and  I  know  it  was  because  they 
vere  Christians." 

"Perhaps  your  kind  of  Christians  are  different  from  my  kind/' 
laid  Mr.  Carleton,  carrying  on  the  conversation  half  in  spite  of 
himself.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  a  Christian,  Elfie  ?  " 

"Why,  what  the  Bible  means,"  said  Fleda,  looking  at  him  with 
innocent  earnestness. 

Mr.  Carleton  was  ashamed  to  tell  her  he  did  not  know  what  that 
was,  or  he  was  unwilling  to  say  what  he  felt  would  trouble  the 
happy  confidence  she  had  in  him.  He  was  silent ;  but  as  they 
rode  on,  a  bitter  wish  crossed  his  mind  that  he  could  have  the 
simple  purity  of  the  little  child  in  his  arms ;  and  he  thought  he 
would  give  his  broad  acres,  supposing  it  possible  that  religion  could 
be  true, — in  exchange  for  that  free  happy  spirk  that  looks  up  to  att 
*s  possession*  in  heaven. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Skarres  are  poore  booke  and  oftentimes  do  miise ; 
This  book  of  starres  lights  to  eternall  blisse. 

GEORGE  HERBERT. 

voyage  across  the  Atlantic  was  not,  in  itself*  at  all  notably 
lti>e  fir&t;  iialfof  the  passage  was  extretnely  unquiet,  and  most  of  thd 
«assengftr*  uncomfortable  to  match.  Then  the  weather  cleared  ;  and 
Merest  of  the  way,  though  lengthened  out  a  good  deal  by  the  trick* 
o*'the  wind,  was  very  fair  and  pleasant. 

Fifteen  days  of  tossing  and  sea-sickness  had  bi ought  little  Fleda 
to  look  like  the  ghost  of  herself.  So  soon  as  the  weather  changed 
and  sky  >nd  sea  were  looking  gentle  again,  Mr.  Carleton  had  a  mat 
tress  and  cushions  laid  in  a  sheltered  corner  of  the  deck  for  her,  and 
carried  her  up,  She  had  hardly  any  more  strength  than  a  baby. 

"  What  arc  you  looking  at  me  so  for,  Mr.  Carleton?  "  said  she,  a, 
little  while  after  he  had  carried  her  up,  with  a  sweet  serious  smile 
that  seemed  to  ka&w  the  answer  to  her  question. 

He  stooped  down  and  clasped  her  little  thin  hand,  as  reverentially 
as  if  she  really  had  not  belonged  to  the  earth. 

"  You  are  more  like,  a  sprite  than  I  like  to  see  you  just  now,"  said 
he,  unconsciously  fastening  the  child's  heart  to  himself  with  the  mag, 
netism  of  those  deep  eyes. — "I  must  get  some  of  the  sailors'  salt 
beef  and  sea-biscuit  for  you — they  say  tnut  is  the  best  thing  to  make 
people  well." 

"  O  I  feel  bette*  alieady,"  said  Fleda,  and  settling  her  little  face 
upon  the  cushion  ami  closing  her  eyes,  she  added, — "thank  you, 
Mr.  Carleton  !  " 

The  fresh  air  began  to  restore  her  immediately  ;  she  was  no  more 
sick  ;  her  appetite  came  hacic  ;  and  from  that  time,  without  the  help 
of  beef  and  sea-biscuk,  she  mended  rapidly.  Mr.  Carleton  proved 
himself  as  good  a  nun*;  on  the  sea  as  on  land.  She  seemed  to  be 
never  far  from  his  thoughts.  He  was  constantly  finding  out  some 
thing  that  would  do  he*  good  or  please  her  ;  and  Fleda  could  not 
discover  that  he  took  avy  trouble  about  it  ;  she  could  not  feel  that 
she  was  a  burden  to  him  ;  the  things  seemed  to  come  as  a  matter  of 
course.  Mrs.  Carleton  w<ws  not  wanting  in  any  show  of  kindness  or 
care,  and  yet,  when  Fleda  looked  back  upon  the  day,  it  wa*  some* 
how  Guy  that  had  done  everything  for  her  ;  she  thought  little  of 
t&anking  anybody  but  him. 

There  were  other  passengers  that  petted  her  a  great  deal,  or  would 
have  done  so,  if  Fleda's  very  timid  retiring  nature  had  not  stood  in 
tne  way.  She  was  never  bashful,  nor  awkward  ;  but  yet  it  was  only 
a  very  peculiar,  sympathetic,  style  of  address  that  could  get  within 
the  wall  of  reserve  which  in  general  hid  her  from  other  people.  Hid, 
what  it  could  ;  for  through  that  reserve  a  singular  modesty,  sweet 
ness,  and  gracefulness  of  spirit  would  show  themselves.  But  there 
was  much  more  behind.  There  were  no  eyes  however  on  board 
did  not  look  kindly  on  little  Fleda,  excepting  oniy  two  pan, 


t*  QUEECtir. 

The  Captain  showed  her  a  great  deal  of  flattering  attention,  and  sakS 
she  was  a  pattern  of  a  passenger  ;  even  the  sailors  noticed  and  spoke 
of  her  and  let  slip  no  occasion  of  showing  the  respect  and  interest 
she  had  raised.  But  there  were  two  pair  of  eyes,  and  one  of  them 
Fleda  thought  most  remarkably  ugly,  that  were  an  exception  to  the 
rest ;  these  belonged  to  her  cousin  Rossitur  and  Lieut.  Thorn.  Ros- 
situr  had  never  forgiven  her  remarks  upon  his  character  as  a  gentle* 
man  and  declared  preference  of  Mr.  Carleton  in  that  capacity  ;  and 
Thorn  was  mortified  at  the  invincible  childish  reserve  which  she  op 
posed  to  all  his  advances  ;  and  both,  absurd  as  it  seems,  were  jeal- 
»us  of  the  young  Englishman's  advantage  over  them.  Both  not  the 
!ess,  beause  their  sole  reason  for  making  her  a  person  of  conse 
quence  was  that  he  had  thought  fit  to  do  so.  Fleda  would  permit 
neither  of  them  to  do  anything  for  her  that  she  could  help. 

They  took  their  revenge  in  raillery,  which  was  not  always  good- 
natured.  Mr.  Carleton  never  answered  it  in  any  other  way  than  by 
his  look  of  cold  disdain, — not  always  by  that  ;  little  Fleda  could  not 
be  quite  so  unmoved.  Many  a  time  her  nice  sense  of  delicacy  con- 
iessed  itself  hurt,  by  the  deep  and  abiding  color  her  cheeks  would 
wear  after  one  of  their  ill-mannered  flings  at  her.  She  bore  them  with  a 
grave  dignity  peculiar  to  herself,  but  the  same  nice  delicacy  forbade 
her  to  mention  the  subject  to  anyone  ;  and  the  young  gentlemen 
contrived  to  give  the  little  child  in  the  course  of  the  voyage  a  good 
deal  of  pain.  She  shunned  them  at  last  as  she  would  the  plague. 
As  to  the  rest  Fleda  liked  her  life  on  board  ship  amazingly.  In  her 
quiet  way  she  took  all  the  good  that  offered  and  seemed  not  to  rec 
ognize  the  ill. 

Mr.  Carleton  had  bought  for  her  a  copy  ov  The  Rape  of  the 
Lock,  and  Bryant's  poems.  With  these,  sitting  or  lying  among  her 
cuhsions,  Fleda  amused  herself  a  great  deal  ;  and  it  was  an  especial 
pleasure  when  he  would  sit  down  by  her  and  read  and  talk  about 
them.  Still  a  greater  was  to  watch  the  sea,  in  its  changes  of  color 
and  varieties  of  agitation,  and  to  get  from  Mr.  Carleton,  bit  by  bit, 
all  the  pieces  of  knowledge  concerning  it  that  he  had  ever  made  his 
own.  Even  when  Fleda  feared  it  she  was  fascinated  ;  and  while  the 
fear  went  off  the  fascination  grew  deeper.  Daintily  nestling  among 
her  cushions  sbe  watched  with  charmed  eyes  the  long  rollers  that 
came  up  in  detachments  of  three  to  attack  the  good  ship,  that  like 
a  slandered  character  rode  patiently  over  them  ;  or  the  crested  green 
billows  or  sometimes  the  little  rippling  waves  that  showed  old 
Ocean's  placidest  face  ;  while  with  ears  as  charmed  as  if  he  had  been 
delivering  a  fairy  tale  she  listened  to  all  Mr.  Carleton  could  tell  her 
of  the  green  water  where  the  whales  feed  or  the  blue  water  where 
Neptune  sits  in  his  own  solitude,  the  furtherest  from  land,  and  the 
pavement  under  his  feet  outdoes  the  very  canopy  overhead  in  its 
deep  coloring  ;  of  the  transparent  seas  where  the  curious  mysterious 
marine  plants  and  animals  may  be  clearly  seen  many  feet  down, 
and  in  the  North  where  hundreds  of  feet  of  depth  do  not  hide  the 
bottom  ;  of  the  icebergs;  and  whirling  great  fields  of  ice,  between 
which  if  a  ship  get  she  had  as  good  be  an  almond  in  a  pair  of  strong 
nut-crackers.  How  the  water  grows  colder  and  murkier  as  it  i$ 
nearer  the  shore  ;  how  the  mountain  waves  are  piled  together  ;  and 
fcow  old  Ocean,  like  *  wise  man,  however  roughened  and  tumble* 


OUKECHT.  fft 

outwardly  by  the  currents  of  Life,  is  always  calm  at  heart,  vjf 
the  signs  of  the  weather  ;  the  out-riders  of  the  winds,  and  the 
use  the  seaman  makes  of  the  tidings  they  bring  ;  and  before  Mr. 
Carleton  knew  where  he  was  he  found  himself  deep  in  the  science 
of  navigation,  and  making  a  star-gazer  of  little  Fleda.  Sometimes 
kneeling  beside  him  as  he  sat  on  her  mattress,  with  her  hand 
leaning  on  his  shoulder,  Fleda  asked,  listened,  and  looked  ;  as 
engaged,  as  rapt,  as  interested,  as  another  child  would  be  in  Robin 
son  Crusoe,  gravely  drinking  in  knowledge  with  a  fresh  healthy 
taste  for  it  that  never  had  enough.  Mn  Carleton  was  about  as 
amused  and  interested  as  she.  There  is  a  second  taste  of  knowl 
edge  that  some  minds  get  in  imparting  it,  almost  as  fresh  as  the 
first  relish.  At  any  rate  Fleda  never  felt  that  she  had  any  rea^ 
son  to  fear  tiring  him  ;  and  his  mother  complaining  of  his  want  of 
sociableness  said  she  believed  Guy  did  not  like  to  talk  to  anybody 
but  that  little  pet  of  his  and  one  or  two  of  the  old  sailors.  If 
left  to  her  own  resources  Fleda  was  never  at  a  loss ;  she  amused 
herself  with  her  books,  or  watching  the  sailors,  or  watching  the  sea, 
or  with  some  fanciful  manufacture  she  had  learned  from  one  of  the 
ladies  on  board,  or  with  what  the  company  about  her  were  say 
ing  and  doing. 

One  evening  she  had  been  sometime  alone,  looking  out  upon  the 
restless  little  waves  that  were  tossing  and  tumbling  in  every  direc 
tion.  She  had  been  afraid  of  them  at  first  and  they  were  still  rather 
fearful  to  her  imagination.  This  evening  as  her  musing  eye  watched 
them  rise  and  fall  her  childish  fancy  likened  them  to  the  up-spring 
ing  chances  of  life, — uncertain,  unstable,  alike  too  much  for  her 
skill  and  her  strength  to  manage.  She  was  not  more  helpless  before 
the  attacks  of  the  one  than  of  the  other.  But  then — that  calm  blue 
Heaven  that  hung  over  the  sea.  It  was  like  the  heaven  of  power 
and  love  above  her  destinies  ;  only  this  was  far  higher  and  more 
pure  and  abiding.  "  He  knoweth  them  that  trust  in  him."  "  There 
shall  not  a  hair  of  your  head  perish." 

Not  these  words  perhaps,  but  something  like  the  sense  of  them 
was  in  little  Fleda's  head.  Mr.  Carleton  coming  up  saw  her  gaa 
ing  out  upon  the  water  with  an  eye  that  seemed  to  see  nothing. 
'  Elfie  ! — Are  you  looking  into  futurity  !  " 

•  No, — yes — not  exactly,"  said  Fleda  smiling. 

•  No,  yes,  and  not  exactly !  "  said  he  throwing  himself  down  be 
iide  her. — "  What  does  all  that  mean  ?  " 

'  I  wasn't  exactly  looking  into  futurity,"  said  Fleda. 

•  What  then? — Don't  tell  me  you  were  '  thinking  ; '  I  know  th*. 
already.     What?" 

Fleda  was  always  rather  shy  of  opening  her  cabinet  of  thoughts. 
She  glanced  at  him,  and  hesitated,  and  then  yielded  to  a  fascination 
of  eye  and  smile  that  rarely  failed  of  its  end.  Looking  off  to  the  sea 
again  as  if  she  had  left  her  thoughts  there,  she  said, 

"  I  was  only  thinking  of  that  beautiful  hymn  of  Mr.  Newton's." 

"  What  hymn?" 

*'  That  long  one,  '  The  Lord  will  provide.'  ' 
Do  you  know  it?— Tell  it  to  me,   Elfie— let  us  see  whe&ec  > 
think  it  beautiful." 

Fleda  knew  the  whole  and  repeated  it. 


me  QUEECHT 

»  Though  troubles  assail, 

And  dangers  affright, 
Though  friends  should  all  fe4 

Aaid  foes  all  unite  ; 
Yet  one  thing  secures  us 

Whatever  betide, 
The  Scripture  assures  us 

« The  Lord  will  provide.* 

*•  The  birds  without  barn 

Or  storehouse  are  fed ; 
From  them  let  us  learn 

To  trust  for  our  bread. 
His  saints  what  is  fitting 

Shall  ne'er  be  denied, 
So  long  as  'tis  written, 

« The  Lord  will  provide.' 

«  His  call  we  obey, 

Like  Abraham  of  old, 
Not  knowing  our  way, 

But  faith  makes  us  bold. 
And  though  we  are  strangers 

We  have  a  good  guide, 
And  trust  in  all  dangers 

« The  Lord  will  provide/ 

«  We  may  like  the  ships 

In  tempests  be  tossed 
On  perilous  deeps, 

But  cannot  be  lost. 
Though  Satan  enrages 

The  wind  and  the  tide, 
The  promise  engages 

« The  Lord  will  provide.1 

«  When  Satan  appears 

To  stop  up  our  path, 
And  fills  us  with-  fears, 

We  triumph  by  faith. 
He  cannot  take  from  us, 

Though  of*  he  has  tried. 
This  heart-cheering  prqmjai^ 

'The  Lo**i  will  provid«.' 

«He  tells  us  we're  weak, 

Our  hope  is  in  vain, 
The  good  that  we  seek 

We  ne'«r  shall  obtain; 
But  whea  such  suggestions 

Our  spirits  have  tried, 
This  answers  all  questions, 

« The  Lord  will  provide.' 

«•  No  strength  of  our  own, 

Or  goodness  we  claim ; 

But  since  we  have  known 

The  Saviour's  great 


IB  this,  our  strong 

For  safety  we  hide ; 
The  Lord  is  our  power ! 

«The  Lord  will  provide  I* 

••When  life  sinks  apace, 

And  death  is  in  view, 
This  world  of  his  grace 

Shall  comfort  us  through. 
No  fearing  nor  doubting, 

With  Christ  on  our  side, 
We  hope  to  die  shouting 

'The  Lord  will  provide!'" 

Guy  listened  very  attentively  to  the  whole.  He  was  very  far  from 
understand!^  the  meaning  of  several  of  the  verses,  but  the  bounding 
expression  of  confidence  and  hope  he  did  understand,  and  did  feel. 

"  Happy  to  be  so  deluded!  "  he  thought. — "I  almost  wish  I 
could  share  the  delusion!  " 

He  was  gloomily  silent  when  she  had  done,  and  little  Fleda's 
eyes  were  so  full  that  it  was  a  little  while  before  she  could  look 
toward  him  and  ask  in  her  gentle  way,  "  Do  you  like  it,  Mr. 
Carleton  ?  " 

She  was  gratified  by  his  grave,  "  yes  !  " 

"  But  Elfie,"  said  he  smiling  again,  "  you  have  not  told  me  your 
thoughts  yet.  What  had  these  verses  to  do  witfe  the  sea  you  were 
looking  at  so  hard  ?  " 

"Nothing — I  was  thinking,"  said  Fleda  slowly, — "  that  the  sea 
feemed  something  like  the  world, — I  don't  mean  it  was  like,  but  it 
made  me  think  of  it  ; — and  I  thought  how  pleasant  it  is  to  know  that 
God  takes  care  of  his  people." 

14  Don't  he  take  care  of  everybody  ?  " 

11  Yes — in  one  sort  of  way,"  said  Fleda  ;  "  but  then  it  is  only  his 
children  that  he  has  promised  to  keep  from  everything  that  will  hurt 
them.1' 

"  I  don't  see  how  that  promise  is  kept,  Elfie.  I  think  those  who 
call  themselves  so  meet  with  as  many  troubles  as  the  rest  of  the 
world,  perhaps  more." 

14  Yes,"  said  Fieda  quickly,  "  they  have  troubles,  but  then  God 
won't  let  the  troubles  do  them  any  harm." 

A  subtle  evasion,  thought  Mr.  Carleton. — "  Where  did  you  lears 
that  Elfie?" 

"The  Bible  says  so,"  said  Fleda. 

44  Well,  how  do  you  know  it  from  that?  "  said  Mr.  Carleton,  im« 
pelled,  he  hardly  knew  whether  by  his  bad  or  his  good  angel,  to 
carry  on  the  conversation. 

•'  Why,"  said  Fleda,  looking  as  if  it  were  a  very  simple  question 
and  Mr.  Carleton  were  catechising  her, — "  you  know,  Mr.  Carleton, 
the  Bible  was  written  by  men  who  were  taught  by  God  exactly  what 
to  say,  so  there  could  be  nothing  in  it  that  is  not  true." 

"  How  do  .you  know  those  men  were  so  taught  ?" 

14  The  Bible  says  so." 

A  child's 'answer— but  with  a  child's  wisdom  in  it,  not  learnt  ox 
the  schools.  4<  He  that  is  of  God  heareth  God's  words/'  To  little 


K* 

Fleda,  as  to  *-very  simple  and  humble  intelligence,  the  Bible  proved 
itseK  ;  sbt  had  no  need  to*go  further. 

Mr.  Carleton  did  not  smile,  for  nothing  would  have  tempted  him 
to  hurt  her  feelings  ;  but  he  said,  though  conscience  did  not  let  him 
do  it  without  a  twinge, 

"  But  don't  you  know,  Elfie,  there  are  some  people  who  do  not 
6elieve  the  Bible?" 

"Ah  but  those  are  bad  people,"  replied  Fleda  quickly  ;—'  all 
good  people  believe  it." 

A  child's  reason  again,  but  hitting  the  mark  this  time.  Uncon 
sciously,  little  Fleda  had  brought  forward  a  strong  argument  for 
iher  cause.  Mr.  Carleton  felt  it,  and  rising  up  that  he  might  not  be 
obliged  to  say  anything  more,  he  began  to  pace  slowly  up  and  down 
the  deck,  turning  the  matter  over. 

Was  is  so?  that  there  were  hardly  any  good  men  (he  though  there 
might  be  a  few)  who  did  not  believe  in  the  Bible  and  uphold  its 
authority  ?  and  that  all  the  worst  portion  of  society  was  compre 
hended  in  the  other  class? — and  if  so  how  had  he  overlooked  it? 
He  had  reasoned  most  unphilosophically  from  a  few  solitary  in 
stances  that  had  come  under  his  own  eye  ;  but  applying  the  broad 
principle  of  induction  it  could  not  be  doubted  that  the  Bible  was  on 
the  side  of  all  that  is  sound,  healthful,  and  hopeful,  in  this  dis 
ordered  world.  And  whatever  might  be  the  character  of  a  few  ex 
ceptions,  it  was  not  supposable  that  a  wide  system  of  hypocrisy 
should  tell  universally  for  the  best  interests  of  mankind.  Summon 
ing  history  to  produce  her  witnesses,  as  he  went  on  with  his  walk 
up  and  down,  he  saw  with  increasing  interest,  what  he  had  never 
seen  before,  that  the  Bible  had  come  like  the  breath  of  spring  upon 
the  moral  waste  of  mind;  that  the  ice-bound  intellect  and  cold 
heart  of  the  world  had  waked  into  life  under  its  kindly  influence  and 
that  all  the  rich  growth  of  the  one  and  the  other  had  come  forth  at 
its  bidding.  And  except  in  that  sun-lightened  tract,  the  world  was 
and  had  been  a  waste  indeed.  Doubtless  in  that  waste,  intellect 
had  at  different  times  put  forth  sundry  barren  shoots,  such  as  a 
vigorous  plant  can  make  in  the  absence  of  the  sun,  but  also  like 
them  immature,  unsound,  and  groping  vainly  after  the  light  in  which 
alone  they  could  expand  and  perfect  themselves  ;  ripening  no  seed 
for  a  future  and  richer  growth.  And  flowers  the  wilderness  had 
3ione.  The  affections  were  stunted  and  overgrown. 

All  this  was  so, — how  had  he  overlooked  it  ?  His  unbelief  ha€ 
come  from  a  thoughtless,  ignorant,  one-sided  view  of  life  and  human 
things.  The  disorder  and  ruin  which  he  saw,  where  he  did  not  also 
see  the  adjusting  hand  at  work,  had  led  him  to  refuse  his  credit  to 
the  Supreme  Fabricator.  He  thought  the  waste  would  never  be  re 
claimed,  and  did  not  know  how  much  it  already  owned  to  the  sun 
of  revelation;  but  what  was  the  waste  where  that  light  had  not 
been  ! — Mr.  Carleton  was  staggered.  He  did  not  know  what  to 
think.  He  began  to  think  he  had  been  a  fool. 

Poor  little  Fleda  was  meditating  less  agreeably  the  while.  With 
the  sure  tact  of  truth  she  had  discerned  that  there  was  more  than' 
jest  in  the  questions  that  had  been  put  to  her.  She  almost  feared 
that  Mr.  Carleton  shared  himself  the  doubts  he  had  so  lightly  spoken 
•f,  and  the  thought  gave  her  great  distress.  However,  when  h« 


QUEECHT.  103 

came  to  take  her  down  to  tea,  with  all  his  usual  manner,  Fleda*  s 
earnest  look  at  him  ended  in  the  conviction  that  there  was  nothing 
very  wrong  under  that  face. 

For  several  days  Mr.  Carleton  pondered  the  matter  of  this  even* 
ing's  conversation,  characteristically  restless  till  he  had  made  up  his 
mind.  He  wished  very  much  to  draw  Fleda  to  speak  further  upon 
the  subject,  but  it  was  not  easy  ;  she  never  led  to  it.  He  sought  in 
vain  an  opportunity  to  bring  it  in  easily,  and  at  last  resolved  to  make 
one. 

"  Elfie,"  said  he  one  morning  when  all  the  rest  of  the  passengers 
were  happily  engaged  at  a  distance  with  the  letter-bags,  —  "  I  wish 
you  would  let  me  hear  that  favorite  hymn  of  yours  again,  —  I  like  it 
very  much." 

Fleda  was  much  gratified  and  immediately  with  great  satisfaction 
repeated  the  hymn.  Its  peculiar  beauty  struck  him  yet  more  the 
second  time  than  the  first. 

"  Do  you  understand  those  two  last  verses?  "  said  he  when  she 
had  done. 

Fleda  said  "  yes  !  "  rather  surprised. 

"  I  do  not,"  he  said  gravely. 

Fleda  paused  a  minute  or  two,  and  then  finding  that  it  depended 
on  her  to  enlighten  him,  said  in  her  modest  way, 

"  Why  it  means  that  we  have  no  goodness  of  our  own,  and  only 
expect  to  be  forgiven  and  taken  to  heaven  for  the  Saviour's  sake." 

Mr.  Carleton  asked,  "  How  for  his  sake?  " 

"  Why  you  know  Mr.  Carleton,  we  don't  deserve  to  go  there,  and 
if  we  are  forgiven  at  all  it  must  be  for  what  he  has  done." 

"  And  what  is  that,  Elfie  ?  " 

"  He  died  for  us,"  said  Fleda,  with  a  look  of  some  anxiety  into 
Mr.  Carleton's  face, 

"  Died  for  us  !  —  And  what  end  was  that  to  serve,  Elfie?  "  said 
he,  partly  willing  to  hear  the  full  statement  of  the  matter,  and  partly 
willing  to  see  how  far  her  intelligence  could  give  it. 

"  Because  we  are  sinners,"  said  Fleda,  "  and  God  has  said  that 
sinners  shall  die." 

"  Then  how  can  he  keep  his  word  and  forgive  at  all  ?  ' 

"  Because  Christ  has  died  for  us,"  said  Fleda  eagerly  ;  —  "  instead 
of  us." 

"  Do  you  understand  the  justice  of  letting  one  take  the  place  of 
'  ' 


"  He  was  willing,  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Fleda,  with  a  singular 
wistful  expression  that  touched  him. 

"Still  Elfie,"  said  he  after  a  minute's  silence,  —  "  how  could  the 
ends  of  justice  be  answered  by  the  death  of  one  man  in  the  place  of 
millions  ?  " 

"  No,  Mr.  Carleton,  but  he  was  God  as  well  as  man,"  Fleda 
said,  with  a  sparkle  in  her  eye  which  perhaps  delayed  her  compan 
ion's  rejoinder. 

"  What  should  induce  him,  Elfie,"  he  said  gently,  "to  do  such  a 
thing  for  people  who  had  displeased  him  ?  " 

"  Because  he  loved  us,  Mr.  Carleton." 

She  answered  with  so  evident  a  strong  and  clear  Appreciation  of 
what  fthe  was  saying  that  it  half  vnade  its  way  into  Mr.  Carleton'i 


104  qUEECHT. 

mind  by  the  force  of  sheer  sympathy  Her  words  came  almost  as 
something  new. 

Certainly  Mr.  Carleton  had  he*rd  these  things  before,  though 
perhaps  never  in  a  way  that  appealed  so  directly  to  his  intelligence 
and  his  candor.  He  was  again  silent  an  instant,  pondering,  and  so 
was  Fleda. 

"  Do  you  know,  Elfie,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  "  there  are  some  peo 
ple  who  do  not  believe  that  the  Saviour  was  anything  more  than  a 
man?  " 

"  Yes  I  know  it/   said  Fleda  ; — "  it  is  very  strange  !  " 

14  Why  is  it  strange  ?  " 

"  Because  the  Bible  says  it  so  plainly.'* 

"  But  those  people  hold  I  believe  that  the  Bible  does  not  say  it** 

"  I  don't  see  how  they  could  have  read  the  Bible,"  said  Fleda. 
•«  Why  he  said  so  himself." 

"Who  said  so?" 

"  Jesus  Christ.     Don't  you  believe  it,  Mr.  Carleton?  *" 

She  saw  he  did  not,  and  the  shade  that  had  come  over  her  face 
was  reflected  in  his  before  he  said  "no." 

"  But  perhaps  I  shall  believe  it  yet,  Elfie,"  he  said  kindly. 
"  Can  you  show  me  the  place  in  your  bible  where  Jesus  says  this  of 
himself?"  % 

Fleda  looked  in  despair.  She  hastily  turned  over  the  leaves  of 
her  bible  to  find  the  passages  he  had  asked  for,  and  Mr.  Carleton 
was  cut  to  the  heart  to  see  that  she  twice  was  obliged  to  turn  her 
face  from  him  and  brush  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  before  she  could 
find  them.  She  turned  to  Matt.  xxvi.  63,  64,  65,  and  without  speak 
ing  gave  him  the  book,  pointing  to  the  passage.  He  read  it  with 
great  care,  and  several  times  over. 

"You  are  right,  Elfie,"  he  said.  "I  do  not  see  how  those  who 
honor  the  authority  of  the  Bible  and  the  character  of  Jesus  Christ 
can  deny  the  truth  of  his  own  declaration.  If  that  is  false  so  must 
those  be." 

Fleda  took  the  bible  and  hurriedly  sought  out  another  passage. 

"Grandpa  showed  me  these  places,"  she  said,  "  once  when  we 
were  talking  about  Mr.  Didenhover — he  didn't  believe  that.  There 
are  a  great  many  other  places,  grandpa  said  ;  but  one  is  enough  ;  " — 

She  gave  him  the  latter  part  of  the  twentieth  chapter  of  John. — 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Carleton,  he  let  Thomas  fall  down  and  worship 
ftim  and  call  him  God  ;  and  if  he  had  not  been,  you  know—  -G©^ 
is  more  displeased  with  that  than  with  anything." 

"With  what,  Elfie?" 

"  With  men's  worshipping  any  other  than  himself.  He  says  he 
•will  not  give  his  glory  to  another.'  " 

"  Where  is  that?" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  can't  find  it,"  said  Fleda, — "  it  is  somewhere  in 
Isaiah,  I  know" — 

She  tried  in  vain ;  and  failing,  then  looked  up  in  Mr.  Carleton's 
face  to  see  what  impression  had  been  made. 

"  Ycu  see  Thomas  believed  when  he  saw"  said  he,  answering 
ker  ; — "  I  will  believe  too  when  I  see." 

"Ah  if  you  wait  for  that — "  said  Fleda. 


QUEECHY.  WS 

Her  voice  suu^wiiy  checked  she  bent  her  face  down  again  to  hcf 
little  bible,  and  there  was  a  moment's  struggle  with  herself. 

"Are  you  looking  for  something  more  to  shew  me?"  said  Mr. 
Carleton  kindly,  stooping  his  face  down  to  hers. 

"Not  much,"  said  Fleda  hurriedly;  and  then  making  a  great 
effort  she  raised  her  head  and  gave  him  the  book  again. 

'•  Look  here,  Mr.  Carleton, — Jesus  said,  4  Blessed  are  they  that 
have  not  seen  and  yet  have  believed.'  " 

Mr.  Carleiun  was  profoundly  struck,  and  the  thought  recurred  tc 
him  afterward  and  was  dwelt  upon.  "  Blesfced  are  they  that  have 
not  seen,  and  yet  have  believed."  It  was  strange  at  first,  and  ther, 
he  wondered  that  it  should  ever  have  been  so.  His  was  a  mind 
peculiarly  open  to  conviction,  peculiarly  accessible  to  truth ;  and 
his  attention  being  called  to  it  he  saw  faintly  now  what  he  had 
never  seen  before,  the  beauty  of  the  principle  of  faith; — how 
natural,  how  reasonable,  how  necessary,  how  honorable  to  the  Su 
preme  Being,  how  happy  even  for  mar,  that  the  grounds  of  his 
trust  in  God  being  established,  his  acceptance  of  many  other 
things  should  rest  on  that  trust  alone. 

Mr.  Carleton  now  became  more  reserved  and  unsociable  than 
ever.  He  wearied  himself  with  thinking.  If  he  could  have  got 
at  the  books,  he  would  have  spent  his  days  and  nights  in  study 
ing  the  evidences  of  Christianity  ;  but  the  ship  was  bare  of  any 
such  books,  and  he  never  thought  of  turning  to  the  most  obvious 
of  all,  the  Bible  itself.  His  unbelief  was  shaken ;  it  was  within  an 
ace  of  falling  in  pieces  to  the  very  foundation  ;  or  rather  he  began, 
to  suspect  how  foundationless  it  had  been.  It  came  at  last  to  one 
point  with  him  ; — If  there  were  a  God,  he  would  not  hava  left  the 
world  without  a  revelation, — no  more  would  he  have  suffered  that 
.revelation  to  defeat  its  own  end  by  becoming  corrupted  or  alloyed; 
if  there  was  such  a  revelation  it  could  be  no  other  than  the  Bible ,- 
— and  his  acceptance  of  the  whole  scheme  of  Christianity  now  hung 
upon  the  turn  of  a  hair.  Yet  he  could  not  resolve  himself.  He 
balanced  the  counter  doubts  and  arguments,  on  one  side  and  on  the 
other,  and  strained  his  mind  to  the  task  ; — he  could  not  weigh  them 
nicely  enough.  He  was  in  a  maze  ;  and  seeking  to  clear  and  calm 
his  judgment  that  he  might  see  the  way  out,  it  was  in  vain  that  he 
ried  to  shake  his  dizzied  head  from  the  effect  of  the  turns  it  had 
made.  By  dint  of  anxiety  to  find  the  right  path  reason  had  lost  her 
self  in  the  wilderness. 

Fleda  was  not,  as  Mr.  Carleton  had  feared  she  would  be,  at  aH 
alienated  from  him  by  the  discovery  that  had  given  ber  so  much 
pain.  It  wrought  in  another  way,  rather  to  add  a  touch  of  tender 
and  anxious  interest  to  the  affection  she  had  for  him.  It  gave  her 
however  much  more  pain  than  he  thought.  If  he  bad  seen  the 
secret  tears  that  fell  on  his  account  he  would  have  b^en  gri«ved  ; 
and  if  he  had  known  of  the  many  petitions  that  little  heart  made 
for  him — he  could  hardly  have  loved  her  more  than  he  did. 

One  evening  Mr.  Carleton  had  been  a  long  while  pacing  up  and 
down  the  deck  in  front  of  little  Fleda's  nest,  thinking  and  thinking, 
without  coming  to  any  end.  It  was  a  most  fair  evening,  near  sun 
set,  the  sky  without  a  cloud  except  two  or  three  little  dainty  strip* 
which  set  off  its  blue.  The  oeean  was  very  quiet,  jH»ly  broken  v*& 


cheerful  mites  of  waves  that  seemed  to  have  nothing  to  do  but 
iparkle.  The  sun's  rays  were  almost  level  now,  and  a  long  path  of 
glory  across  the  sea  led  off  toward  his  sinking  disk.  Fleda  sac 
watching  and  enjoying  it  a'J.  in  her  happy  fashion,  which  alwaysmade 
the  most  of  everything  good,  and  was  especially  quick  in  catching 
any  form  of  natural  beauty. 

Mr.  Carleton's  thoughts  were  elsewhere  ;  too  busy  to  take  note  ot 
things  around  him.  Fleda  looked  now  and  then  as  he  passed  at 
his  gloomy  brow,  wondering  what  he  was  thinking  of,  and  wishing 
<hat  he  could  have  the  same  reason  to  be  happy  that  she  had.  It. 
ene  of  his  turns  his  eye  met  her  gentle  glance  ;  and  vexed  and  be 
wildered  as  he  was  with  study  there  was  something  in  that  calm 
bright  face  that  impelled  him  irresistibly  to  ask  the  little  child  to 
set  the  proud  scholar  right.  Placing  himself  beside  her,  he  said, 

"Elfie,  how  do  you  know  there  is  a  God? — what  reason  have  you 
for  thinking  so,  out  of  the  Bible?  " 

It  was  a  strange  look  little  Fleda  gave  him.  He  felt  it  at  the 
time,  and  he  never  forgot  it.  Such  a  look  of  reproach,  sorrow,  and 
Pity,  he  afterward  thought,  as  an  angel's  face  might  have  worn. 
The  question  did  not  seem  to  occupy  her  a  moment.  After  this 
answering  look  she  suddenly  pointed  to  the  sinking  sun  and  said, 

"  Who  made  that,  Mr.  Carleton  ?" 

Mr.  Carleton's  eyes,  following  the  direction  of  hers,  met  the  long 
bright  rays  whose  still  witness-bearing  was  almost  too  powerful  to 
be  borne.  The  sun  was  just  dipping  majestically  into  the  sea,  and 
its  self-assertion  seemed  to  him  at  that  instant  hardly  stronger  than 
its  vindication  of  its  Author. 

A  slight  arrow  may  find  the  joint  in  the  armor  before  which  many 
weightier  shafts  have  fallen  powerless.  Mr.  Carleton  was  ac  un- 
believer  no  more  from  that  time. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

He  borrowed  a  box  of  the  ear  of  the  Englishman,  and  swore  he  would 
pay  him  again  when  he  was  able. — MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

ONE  other  incident  alone  in  the  course  of  the  voyage  deserves 
to  be  mentioned  ;  both  because  it  served  to  bring  out  the  characters 
of  several  people,  and  because  it  was  not, — what  is  ? — without  its 
lingering  consequences. 

Thorn  and  Rossitur  had  kept  up  indefatigably  the  game  of  teas 
ing  Fleda  about  her  "  English  admirer,"  as  they  sometimes  styled 
him.  Poor  Fleda  grew  more  and  more  sore  on  the  subject.  She 
thought  it  was  very  strange  that  two  grown  men  could  not  find 
enough  to  do  to  amuse  themselves  without  making  sport  of  the 
comfort  of  a  little  child.  She  wondered  they  could  take  pleasure 
in  what  gave  her  so  much  pain  ;  but  so  it  was  ;  and  they  had  it  up 
so  often  that  at  last  others  caught  it  from  thorn  ;  and  though  not  in 
malevolence  yet  in  thoughtless  folly  many  a  light  remark  was  made 
and  question  asked  of  her  that  set  little  Fieda's  sensitive  nerves  a 
quivering.  She  was  on^y  too  happy  that  they  were  never  sa;d  be« 
fore  Mr.  Carleton  ;  that  would  have  been  a  thousand  times  worse, 


QUEECHT.  N* 

As  It  was,  her  gentle  nature    was   constantly   suffering  from   the 
pain  or  the  fear  of  these  attacks. 

"Where's  Mr.  Carleton?"   said  her  cousin  coming  up  one  day. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Fleda, — "  I  don't  knc\v  but  he  is  gone  up 
into  one  of  the  tops." 

'•  Your  humble  servant  leaves  you  to  yourself  a  great  while  this 
jnorning,  it  seems  to  me.  He  is  growing  very  inattentive." 

"  I  wouldn't  permit  it,  Miss  Fleda,  it  I  were  you,"  said  Thorn 
maliciously.  "  You  let  him  have  his  own  way  too  much." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  so,  cousin  Charlton !  "  said  Fleda. 

"  But  seriously,"  said  Charlton,  "  I  think  you  had  better  call  him 
Jo  account.  He  is  very  suspicious  lately.  I  have  observed  him 
walking  by  himself  and  looking  very  glum  indeed.  I  am  afraid 
he  has  taken  some  fancy  into  his  head  that  would  not  suit  you.  I 
advise  you  to  enquire  into  it." 

"I  wouldn't  give  myself  any  concern  about  it !  said  Thorn 
lightly,  enjoying  the  child's  confusion  and  his  own  fanciful  style  of 
backbiting. — "  I'd  let  him  go  if  he  was  a  mind  to,  Miss  Fleda. 
He's  no  such  great  cacch.  He's  neither  lord  nor  knight — nothing 
«n  the  world  but  a  private  gentleman,  with  plenty  of  money  I  dare 
say,  but  you  don't  care  for  that ; — and  there's  as  good  fish  in  the 
sea  as  ever  came  out  of  it.  I  don't  think  much  of  him  !  " 

He  is  wonderfully  better  than  you,  thought  Fleda  as  she  looked 
in  the  young  gentleman's  face  for  a  second,  but  she  said  nothing. 

"  Why  Fleda,"  said  Charlton  laughing,  "  it  wouldn't  be  a  killing 
affair,  would  it?  How  has  this  English  admirer  of  yours  got  so  far 
in  your  fancy? — praising  your  pretty  eyes,  eh? — Eh?"  he  re 
peated,  as  Fleda  kept  a  dignified  silence. 

No,"  said  Fleda  in  displeasure, — "he  never  say  such  things." 

"  No  ?"  said  Charlton.  "  What  then  ?  What  does  he  say  ?  I 
wouldn't  let  him  make  a  fool  of  me  if  I  were  you.  Fleda? — did 
he  ever  ask  you  for  a  kiss?  " 

"No!  "  exclaimed  Fleda  half  beside  herself  and  bursting  into 
tears  ; — "  I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  so  !  How  can  you  !  " 

They  had  carried  the  game  pretty  far  that  time,  and  thought 
best  to  leave  it.  Fleda  stopped  crying  as  soon  as  she  could,  lest 
somebody  should  see  her  ;  and  was  sitting  quietly  again,  alone  a? 
before,  when  one  of  the  sailors  whom  she  had  never  spoken  te 
same  by,  and  leaning  over  toward  her  with  a  leer  as  he  passed 
>id, 

"  Is  this  the  young  English  gentleman's  little  sweetheart  ?  oc 

Poor  Fleda !  She  had  got  more  than  she  could  bear.  She 
jumped  up  and  ran  down  into  the  cabin  ;  and  in  her  berth  Mrs. 
Carleton  found  her  some  time  afterward,  quietly  crying,  and  most 
sorry  to  be  discovered.  She  was  exceeding  unwilling  to  tell  what 
had  troubled  her.  Mrs.  Carleton,  really  distressed,  tried  coaxing, 
soothing,  reasoning,  promising,  in  a  way  the  most  gentle  and  kin6 
that  she  could  use. 

"Oh  it's  nothing — it's  nothing,'  Fleda  said  at  last  eagerly,-- 
Mit  s  because  I  am  foolish — it's  onlv  something  they  said  to  me,** 

"Who,  love?" 

Again  was  Fleda  m«v»t  unwilling  to  answer,  and  if  w%saftei  ^ 
paated  urging  that  she  at  lasc  sato. 


"  Cousin  Charlton  and  Mr.  Thorn." 

Charlton  and  Mr.  Thorn !— What  did  they  say?    What  did 
say,  darling  Fleda?" 

"  O  it's  only  that  they  tease  me,"  said  Fleda,  trying  hard  to  put 
an  end  to  the  tears  which  caused  all  this  questioning,  and  to  speak 
a*  if  they  were  about  a  trifle.  But  Mrs.  Carleton  persisted. 

"  What  do  they  say  to  tease  you,  love  ?  what  is  it  about?— Guy, 
come  in  here  and  help  me  to  find  out  what  is  the  matter  with  Fleda.' ' 

Fleda  hid  her  face  in  Mrs.  Carleton' s  neck,  resolved  to  keep  her 
lips  sealed.  Mr.  Carleton  came  in,  but  to  her  great  relief  his  ques 
tion  was  directed  not  to  her  but  his  mother. 

14  Fleda  has  been  annoyed  by  something  those  young  men,  her 
tousin  and  Mr.  Thorn,  have  said  to  her  ; — they  tease  her,  she  says, 
&nd  she  will  not  tell  me  what  it  is." 

Mr.  Carleton  did  not  ask,  and  he  presently  left  the  staterootti* 

"  O  I  am  afraid  he  will  speak  to  them  !  "  exclaimed  Fleda  as  soon 
0s  he  was  gone. — "  O  I  oughtn't  to  have  said  that !  " 

Mrs.  Carleton  tried  to  soothe  her  and  asked  what  she  was  afraid 
jf.  But  Fleda  would  not  say  any  more.  Her  anxious  fear  that  she 
frad  done  mischief  helped  to  dry  her  tears,  and  she  sorrowfully  re* 
•olved  she  would  keep  her  griefs  to  herself  next  time. 

Rossitur  and  Thorn  were  in  company  with  a  brother  officer  and 
friend  of  the  latter  when  Mr.  Carleton  approached  them. 

"Mr.  Rossitur  and  Mr.  Thorn,"  said  he,  "you  have  indulged 
yourselves  in  a  style  of  conversation  extremely  displeasing  to  the 
tittle  girl  under  my  mother's  care.  You  will  oblige  me  by  abandon 
ing  it  for  the  future." 

There  was  certainly  in  Mr.  Carleton's  manner  a  sufficient  degree 
$f  the  cold  haughtiness  with  which  he  usually  expressed  displeasure  ; 
though  his  words  gave  no  other  cause  of  offence.  Thorn  retorted 
father  insolently. 

"  I  shall  oblige  myself  in  the  matter,  and  do  as  I  think  proper.'* 

"I  have  a  right  to  speak  as  I  please  to  my  own  cousin,"  said 
Rossitur  sulkily, — "without  asking  anybody's  leave,  I  don't  see 
what  you  have  to  do  with  it." 

"  Simply  that  she  is  under  my  protection  and  that  I  will  not  per» 
init  her  to  be  annoyed." 

91  I  don't  see  how  she  is  under  your  protection,"  said  Rossitur. 

31  And  I  do  not  see  how  the  potency  of -it  will  avail  in  this  case,'" 
laid  his  companion. 

"  Neither  position  is  to  be  made  out  in  words,"  said  Mr.  Carleton 
calmly.  "  You  see  that  I  desire  there  be  no  repetition  of  the  of* 
fence.  The  rest  I  will  endeavor  to  make  clear  if  I  am  compelled  to 
it." 

"  Stop  sir!  "  said  Thorn,  as  the  young  Englishman  was  turning 
away,  adding  with  an  oath, — "Iwon't  bear  this  I  You  shall  an 
swer  this  to  me,  sir!  " 

"  Easily,"  said  the  other. 

"  And  me  too/'  said  Rossitur.  "  You  have  an  account  to  settle 
with  me,  Carleton." 

•*  I  will  answer    what  you  please,"  said  Carleton  carelessly, — 
•"and  as  soon  as  we  get  to  land, — provided  you  do  not  in  the  mean 
induce  me  to  refuse  you  the  honor." 


ffcxvever  incensed,  the  young  men  endeavored  to  carry  it  off  with 
me  same  coolness  that  their  adversary  showed.  No  more  words 
passed.  But  Mrs.  Carleton,  possibly  quickened  by  Fleda'  s  fears. 
was  not  satisfied  with  the  carriage  of  all  parties,  and  resolved  to 
sound  her  son,  happy  in  knowing  that  nothing  but  truth  was  to  be 
had  from  him.  She  found  an  opportunity  that  very  afternoon  when 
he  was  sitting  alone  on  the  deck.  The  neighborhood  of  little  Fleda 
she  hardly  noticed.  Fleda  was  curled  up  among  her  cushion*, 
luxuriously  bending  over  a  little  old  black  frble  which  was  very 
often  in  her  hand  at  times  when  she  was  quiet  a«id  had  no  observa- 
uon  to  fear, 

"  Reading  !  —  always  reading  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Ca\  'eton,  as  she  came 
up  and  took  a  place  by  her  son. 

"By  no  means!"  he  said,  closing  hit  book  with  a  smile;— 
''  not  enough  to  tire  any  one's  eyes  on  this  voyage  mother." 

"  I  wish  you  liked  intercourse  with  living  society,"  said  Mrs. 
Carleton,  leaning  her  arm  on  his  shoulder  and  looking  at  him  rather 
wistfully. 

••  You  need  not  wish  that,  —  when  it  suits  me,"  hfc  answered. 

"  But  none  suits  you.     Is  there  any  on  board  ?  " 

"A  small  proportion,"  he  said,  with  the  slight  play  of  feature 
which  always  effected  a  diversion  of  his  mother's  thoughts,  no  mat 
ter  in  what  channel  they  had  been  flowing. 

"But  those  young  men,"  she  said,  returning  to  the  charge,  — 
*you  hold  yourself  very  much  aloof  from  them  ?  ' 

He  did  not  answer,  even  by  a  look,  but  to  his  mother  the  per 
fectly  quiet  composure  of  his  face  was  sufficiently  expressive. 

"I  know  what  you  think;  but  Guy,  you  always  had  the  Sam* 
opinion  of  them?" 

"  I  have  never  shown  any  other.'* 

"  Guy,"  she  said  speaking  low  and  rather  anxiettsly,  —  "have  you 
got  into  trouble  with  those  young  men?  " 

"  /  am  in  no  trouble,  mother,"  he  answered  fcomewhat  haught* 
ily  ;_  ««  I  cannot  speak  for  them." 

Mrs.  Carletoa  waited  a  moment. 

"You  have  done  something  to  displease  them  have  you  not?'* 

"  They  have  displeased  me,  which  is  somewhat  taore  to  the  pur* 


14  But  their  folly  is  nothing  to  you  ?  " 

•  No,—  not  their  folly." 

"Guy,"  said  his  mother,  again  pausing  a  minut  and  pressing 
her  hand  more  heavily  upon  his  shoulder,  "  you  wil<  not  suffer  this 
to  alter  the  friendly  terms  you  have  been  on  ?—  whate,*sr  it  be,—  let 
k  pass." 

"  Certainly  —  if  they  choose  to  apologize  and  behave  thfm  selves.'* 

"  What,  about  Fleda?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  have  no  idea  they  meant  to  trouble  her—  I  suppose  they  did 
not  at  all  know  what  they  were  doing,  —  thoughtless  nonsense  —  and 
they  could  have  had  no  design  to  offend  you.  Promise  r':e  that 
you  will  not  take  any  further  notice  of  this  !  " 

He  shook  off  her  beseeching  kand  as  he  rose  up,  aad  ana,  vered 
.  *nd  not  without  something  like  an  oath,  that  h* 


110 

Mrs.   Carleton  knew  him  better  than  to  press  the  matter  aaf 

further  ;  and  her  fondness  easily  forgave  the  offence  against  her* 
self,  especially  as  her  son  almost  immediately  resumed  his  ordinary 
manner. 

It  had  well  nigh  passed  from  the  minds  of  both  parties,  when  in 
the  middle  of  the  next  day  Mr.  Carleton  asked  what  had  become 
of  Fleda  ? — he  had  not  seen  her  except  at  the  breakfast  table.  Mrs. 
Carleton  said  she  was  not  well. 

'•What's  the  matter?" 

'  She  complained  of  some  headache — I  think  she  made  herself 
»ck  yesterday — she  was  crying  all  the  afternoon,  and  I  could  not 
get  her  to  tell  me  what  for.  I  tried  every  means  I  could  think  of, 
but  she  would  not  give  me  the  least  clue — she  said  '  no '  to  every 
thing  I  guessed — I  can't  bear  to  see  her  do  so — it  makes  tt  all  the 
worse  she  does  it  so  quietly — it  was  only  by  a  mere  chance  I  found 
she  was  crying  at  all,  but  I  think  she  cried  herself  ill  before  she 
stopped.  She  could  not  eat  a  mouthful  of  breakfast." 

Mr.  Carleton  said  nothing  and  with  a  changed  countenance  went 
directly  down  to  the  cabin.  The  stewardess,  whom  he  sent  in  to 
see  how  she  was,  brought  back  word  that  Fleda  was  not  asleep  but 
too  ill  to  speak  to  her.  Mr.  Carleton  went  immediately  into  the 
little  crib  of  a  stateroom.  There  he  found  his  little  charge,  sitting 
bolt  upright,  her  feet  on  the  rung  of  a  chair  and  her  hands  grasping 
the  top  to  support  herself.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  her  faoe  without 
a  particle  of  color,  expect  the  dark  shade  round  the  eyes  which  be 
spoke  illness  and  pain.  She  made  no  attempt  to  answer  his  shocked 
questions  and  words  of  tender  concern,  not  even  by  the  raising  of 
an  eyelid,  and  he  saw  that  the  intensity  of  pain  at  the  moment  was 
such  as  to  render  breathing  itself  difficult.  He  sent  off  the  steward 
ess  with  all  despatch  after  iced  water  and  vinegar  and  brandy,  and 
himself  went  on  an  earnest  quest  of  restoratives  among  the  lady 
passengers  in  the  cabin,  which  resulted  in  sundry  supplies  of  salts 
and  cologne  ;  and  also  offers  of  service,  in  greater  plenty  still, 
which  he  all  refused.  Most  tenderly  and  judiciously  he  himself 
applied  various  remedies  to  the  suffering  child,  who  could  not  direct 
him  otherwise  than  by  gently  putting  away  the  things  which  she 
felt  would  not  avail  her.  Several  were  in  vain.  But  there  was  one 
bottle  of  strong  aromatic  vinegar  which  was  destined  to  immor 
talize  its  owner  in  Fleda's  remembrance.  Before  she  had  taken 
ihree  whiffs  of  it  her  color  changed.  Mr.  Carleton  watched  the 
effect  of  a  few  whiffs  more,  and  then  bade  the  stewardess  take  away 
all  the  other  things  and  bring  him  a  cup  of  fresh  strong  coffee.  By 
the  time  it  came  Fleda  was  ready  for  it,  and  by  the  time  Mr.  Carle- 
ton  had  administered  the  coffee  he  saw  it  would  do  to  throw  his 
mother's  shawl  round  her  and  carry  her  up  on  deck,  which  he  did 
without  asking  any  questions.  -All  this  while  Fleda  had  not  spoken 
a  word,  except  once  when  he  asked  her  if  she  felt  better.  But  she 
had  given  him,  on  finishing  the  coffee,  a  full  look  and  half  smile 
of  such  pure  affectionate  gratitude  that  the  young  gentleman's 
tongue  was  tied  for  some  time  after. 

With  happy  skill,  when  he  had  safely  bestowed  Fleda  among  h«r 
cushions  on  deck,  Mr.  Caneton  managed  to  keep  ofif  the  crowd  of 
busy  inquirers  alter  tier  well-doing  and  even  presently  to  turn  tm 


QUEECHT.  111 

Mother's  attention  anpther  way,  leaving  Fleda  to  -enjoy  all  the  com* 
fort  of  quiet  and  fresh  air  at  once.  He  himself,  seeming  occupied 
with  other  things,  did  no  more  but  keep  watch  over  her,  till  he  saw 
that  she  was  able  to  bear  conversation  again.  Then  he  seated  him 
self  beside  her  and  said  softly, 

"  Elfie, — what  were  you  crying  about  all  yesterday  afternoon?" 

Fleda  changed  color,  for  soft  and  gentle  as  the  tone  was  she 
heard  in  it  a  determination  to  have  the  answer  ;  and  looking  up  be 
seechingly  into  his  face  she  saw  in  the  steady  full  blue  eye  that  it 
was  a  determination  she  could  not  escape  from.  Her  answer  waf 
in  imploring  request  that  he  would  not  ask  her.  But  taking  one  of 
her  little  hands  and  carrying  it  to  his  lips,  he  in  the  same  tone  re 
peated  his  question.  Fleda  snatched  away  her  hand  and  burst 
into  very  frank  tears  ;  Mr.  Carleton  was  silent,  but  she  knew 
through  his  silence  that  he  was  only  quietly  waiting  for  her  to 
answer  him. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  ask  me  sir,"  said  poor  Fleda,  who  stilJ 
could  not  turn  her  face  to  meet  his  eye  ; — "  It  was  only  something 
that  happened  yesterday." 

«'  What  was  it,  Elfie  ? — You  need  not  be  afraid  to  tell  me.'* 

"  It  was  only — what  you  said  to  Mrs.  Carleton  yesterday, — when 
she  was  talking — " 

41  About  my  difficulty  with  those  gentlemen  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Fleda,  with  a  new  gush  of  tears,  as  if  her  grief 
stirred  afresh  at  the  thought. 

Mr.  Carleton  was  silent  a  moment ;  and  when  he  spoke  there 
was  no  displeasure  and  more  tenderness  than  usual  in  his  voice. 

"  What  troubled  you  in  that,  Elfie  ?  tell  me  the  whole." 

"  I  was  sorry,  because, — it  wasn't  right,"  said  Fleda,  with  a  grave 
truthfulness  which  yet  lacked  none  of  her  universal  gentleness  and 
modesty. 

"  What  wasn't  right  ?  " 

"To  speak — I  am  afraid  you  won't  like  me  to  say  it,  Mr.  Carle- 
ton." 

••  I  will  Elfie,— for  I  ask  you." 

"  To  speak  to  Mrs.  Carleton  so,  and  besides, — you  know  what 
you  said,  Mr.  Carleton — " 

"  It  was  not  right,"  said  he  after  a  minute, — "  and  I  very  seldom 
ase  such  an  expression,  but  you  know  one  cannot  always  be  on  one's 
guard,  Elfie?" 

"  But,"  said  Fleda  with  gentle  persistence,  "one  can  always  do 
what  is  right." 

The  deuce  one  can  ! — thought  Mr.  Carleton  to  himself.  "  Elfie, 
— was  this  all  that  troubled  you  ? — that  I  had  said  what  was  not 
right?" 

"  It  wasn't  quite  that  only,"  said  Fleda  hesitating, — 

«« What  else?" 

She  stooped  her  face  from  his  sight  and  he  could  but  just  under* 
stand  her  words. 

"  I  was  disappointed — " 

"  What,  in  me!  " 

Her  tears  gave  the  answer  ;  she  could  add  to  them  nothing  but  an 
assenting  nod  of  her  head. 


IW  QUEECHT. 

They  would  have  flowed  in  double  measure  if  she  had  gueseet 
the  pain  she  had  given.  Her  questioner  heard  her  with  a  keen 
pang  which  did  not  leave  him  for  days.  There  was  some  hurt  pride 
in  it,  though  other  and  more  generous  feelings  had  a  far  larger 
share.  He,  who  had  been  admired,  lauded,  followed,  cited,  and 
envied,  by  all  ranks  of  his  countrymen,  and  countrywomen  ; — in 
whom  nobody  found  a  fault  that  could  be  dwelt  upon  an*  id  the 
lustre  of  his  perfections  and  advantages  ;  one  of  the  first  young  men 
in  England,  thought  so  by  himself  as  well  as  by  others  ; — this  little 
pure  being  had  been  disappointed  in  him.  He  could  not  get  over 
fe.  He  reckoned  the  one  judgment  worth  all  the  others.  Those 
whose  direct  or  indirect  flatteries  had  been  poured  at  his  feet  were 
the  proud,  the  worldly,  the  ambitious,  the  interested,  the  corrupted  ; 
— their  praise  was  given  to  what  they  esteemed,  and  that,  his 
candor  said,  was  the  least  estimable  part  of  him.  Beneath  all  that, 
this  truth-loving,  truth-discerning  little  spirit  had  found  enough  to 
weep  for.  She  was  right  and  they  were  wrong.  The  sense  of  this 
was  so  keen  upon  him  that  it  was  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  before  he 
could  recover  himself  to  speak  to  his  little  reprover.  He  paced  up 
and  down  the  deck,  while  Fleda  wept  more  and  more  from  the  fear 
of  having  offended  or  grieved  him.  But  she  was  soon  reassured  on 
the  former  point.  She  was  just  wiping  away  her  tears,  with  the  quiet 
expression  of  patience  her  face  often  wore,  when  Mr.  Carleton  sat 
down  beside  her  and  took  one  of  her  hands. 

"  Elfie,"  said  he, — "  I  promise  you  I  will  never  say  such  a  thing 
again." 

He  might  well  call  her  his  good  angel,  for  it  was  an  angelic  look 
the  child  gave  him.  So  purely  humble,  grateful,  glad, — so  rosy 
with  joyful  hope, — the  eyes  were  absolutely  sparkling  through 
tears.  But  when  she  saw  that  his  were  not  dry,  her  own  overflowed. 
She  clasped  her  other  hand  to  his  hand  and  bending  down  her  face 
affectionately  upon  it,  she  wept, — if  ever  angels  weep, — such  tears  as 
they. 

"Elfie,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  as  soon  3&  he  could, — "  I  want  you 
to  go  down  stairs  with  me  ;  so  dry  those  eyes,  or  my  mother  will  be 
asking  all  sorts  of  difficult  questions." 

Happiness  is  a  quick  restorative.  Elfie  was  soon  ready  to  g« 
where  he  would. 

They  found  Mrs.  Carleton  fortunately  wrapped  up  in  a  new  novel, 
some  distance  apart  from  the  other  persons  in  the  cabin.  The  novel 
was  immediately  laid  aside  to  take  Fleda  on  her  lap  and  praise 
Guy's  nursing. 

"  But  she  looks  more  like  a  wax  figure  yet  than  anything  else, 
don't  she,  Guy?" 

"  Not  like  any  that  ever  I  saw,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  gravely* 
«•  Hardly  substantial  enough.  Mother  I  have  come  to  tell  you  I  an* 
ashamed  of  myself  for  having  given  you  such  cause  of  offence  yes« 
terday." 

Mrs.  Carleton's  quick  look,  as  she  laid  her  hand  on  her  son's  arm, 
laid  sufficiently  well  that  she  would  have  excused  him  from  making 
any  apology  rather  than  have  him  humble  himself  in  the  presence 
Of  a  third  person. 


11* 

•«  Fleda  heard  me  yesterday,"  said  he  ;— "  it  was  right  she  should 
hear  me  to-day." 

"Then  my  dear  Guy,"  said  his  mother,  witk  a  secret  eagerness 
which  she  did  not  allow  to  appear,—"  if  I  may  make  a  condition  for 
my  forgiveness,  which  you  had  before  you  asked  for  it, — will  you 
grant  me  one  favor  ? ' ' 

"  Certainly,  mother, — if  I  can." 

"  You  promise  me  ?  " 

"  As  well  in  one  word  as  in  two." 

"  Promise  me  that  you  will  never,  by  any  circumstances,  allow 
ffowrself  to  be  drawn  into — what  is  called  an  affair  of  honor" 

Mr.  Carleton's  brow  changed,  and  without  making  any  reply, 
perhaps  to  avoid  his  mother's  questioning  gaze,  he  rose  up  and 
walked  two  or  three  times  the  length  of  the  cabin.  His  mother  and 
Fleda  watched  him  doubtfully. 

"  Do  you  see  how  you  have  got  me  into  trouble,  Elfie?"  said  he, 
stopping  before  them. 

Fleda  looked  wonderingly,  and  Mrs.  Carleton  exclaimed,  "  What 
trouble? " 

"Elfie,"  said  he,  without  immediately  answering  his  mother, 
•'  what  would  your  conscience  do  with  two  promises  both  of  which 
cannot  be  kept?  " 

"What  such  promises  have  you  made?"  said  Mrs.  Carletoa 
eagerly. 

"  Let  me  hear  first  what  Fleda  says  to  my  question. 

"  Why,"  said  Fleda,  looking  a  little  bewildered, — "  I  would  ke«p 
the  right  one." 

"  Not  the  one  first  made?  "  said  he  smiling. 

"  No,"  said  Fleda,—"  not  unless  it  was  the  right  one." 

"  But  don't  you  think  one  ought  to  keep  one's  word,  in  any 
event? " 

•'  I  don't  think  anything  can  make  it  right  to  do  wrong,"  Fleda 
said  gravely,  and  not  without  a  secret  trembling  consciousness  to 
what  point  she  was  speaking. 

He  left  them  and  again  took  several  turns  up  and  down  the 
cabin  before  he  sat  down. 

*•  You  have  not  given  me  your  promise  yet,  Guy,"  said  his 
mother,  whose  eye  had  not  once  quitted  him.  "  You  said  yow 
would/ 

fil  said,  if  I  could." 

••Well?— you  can?" 

"  I  have  two  honorable  meetings  of  the  proscribed  kind  now 
on  hand,  to  which  I  stand  pledged." 

Fleda  hid  her  face  in  an  agony.  Mrs.  Carleton's  agony  was 
in  every  line  of  hers  as  she  graspted  her  son's  wrist  exclaiming, 
"  Guy,  promise  me  !  "  She  had  words  for  nothing  else.  He  hesi 
tated  still  a  moment,  and  then  meeting  his  mother's  look  he  said 
gravely  and  steadily, 

"  I  promise  you,  mother,  I  never  will." 

His  mother  threw  herself  upon  his  breast  and  hid  her  face 
there,  too  much  excited  to  have  any  thought  of  her  customary 
regard  to  appearances  ;  sobbing  out  thanks  and  blessings  even 
audibly.  Fleda' s  gentle  head  was  bowed  in  almosr  equal  agita- 


.  114 

tion  ;  and  Mr.   Carleton  at  that  moment  had  no  doubt  that  he  had 
chosen  well  which  promise  to  keep. 

There  remained  however  a  less  agreeable  part  of  the  business  ta 
manage.  After  seeing  his  mother  and  Fleda  quite  happy  again, 
though  without  satisfying  in  any  degree  the  curiosity  of  the  former, 
Guy  went  in  search  of  the  two  young  West  Point  officers.  They 
were  together,  but  without  Thorn's  friend,  Capt.  Beebee.  Him 
Carleton  next  sought  and  brought  to  the  forward  deck  where  the 
others  were  enjoying  their  cigars  ;  or  rather  Charlton  Rossitur  was 
enjoying  his,  with  the  happy  self-satisfaction  of  a  pair  of  epaulettes 
or?  duty.  Thorn  had  loo  busy  a  brain  to  be  much  of  a  smoker. 
Now,  however,  when  it  was  plain  that  Mr.  Carleton  had  something 
to  say  to  them,  Charlton' s  cigar  gave  way  to  his  attention  ;  it  was 
displaced  from  his  mouth  and  held  in  abeyance  ;  while  Thorn 
puffed  away  more  intently  than  ever. 

"Gentlemen,"  Carleton  began, — "I  gave  you  yesterday  reason 
to  expect  that  so  soon  as  circumstances  permitted,  you  should 
have  the  opportunity  which  offended  honor  desires  of  trying 
sounder  arguments  than  those  of  reason  upon  the  offender.  I 
have  to  tell  you  to-day  that  I  will  not  give  it  you.  I  have  thought 
further  of  it." 

"  Is  it  a  new  insult  that  you  mean  by  this,  sir?"  exclaimed  Ros- 
situr  in  astonishment.  Thorn's  cigar  did  not  stir. 

"  Neither  new  nor  old.  I  mean  simply  that  I  have  changed  my 
mind." 

"  But  this  is  very  extraordinary  !  "  said  Rossitur.  "  What  reason 
do  you  give  ?" 

"  I  give  none,  sir." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Capt.  Beebee,  "  perhaps  Mr.  Carleton  will 
not  object  to  explain  or  unsay  the  things  which  gave  offence  yes 
terday." 

"  I  apprehend  there  is  nothing  to  explain,  sir, — I  think  I  must 
have  been  understood ;  and  I  never  take  back  my  words  for  I  am 
in  the  habit  of  speaking  the  truth." 

"  Then  we  are  to  consider  this  as  a  further,  unprovoked,  unmiti 
gated  insult  for  which  you  will  give  neither  reason  nor  satisfac 
tion  !"  cried  Rossitur. 

41 1  have  already' disclaimed  that,  Mr.  Rossitur." 

•«  Are  we,  on  mature  deliberation,  considered  unworthy  of  the 
fonor  you  so  condescendingly  awarded  to  us  yesterday  ?  " 

"  My  reasons  have  nothing  to  do  with  you,  sir,  nor  with  your 
friend  ;  they  are  entirely  personal  to  myself." 

"  Mr.  Carleton  must  be  aware,"  said  Capt.  Beebee,  "  that  his 
conduct,  if  unexplained,  will  bear  a  very  strange  construction." 

Mr.  Carleton  was  coldly  silent. 

"  It  never  was  heard  of,"  the  Captain  went  on,—"  that  a  gentle 
man  declined  both  to  explain  and  to  give  satisfaction  for  any  part 
of  his  conduct  which  had  called  for  it." 

"  It  never  was  heard  that  a  gentleman  did,"  said  Thorn,  remov 
ing  his  cigar  a  moment  for  the  purpose  of  supplying  the  emphasis 
•vhich  his  friend  had  carefully  omitted  to  make. 

"  Will  you  say,  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Rossitur,  "  that  you  did  not 
mean  to  offend  us  yesterday  in  what  you  said  ?  " 


QUEECHY.  116 

••No,  Mr.  Kossitur." 

"  You  will  not !  "  cried  the  Captain. 

"  No  sir  ;  for  your  friends  had  given  me,  as  I  conceived,  just 
cause  of  displeasure  ;  and  I  was,  and  am,  careless  of  offending 
those  who  have  done  so." 

"You  consider  yourself  aggrieved,  then,  in  the  first  place?" 
said  Beebee. 

"  I  have  said  so,  sir." 

"Then,"  said  the  Captain  after  a  puzzled  look  out  to  sea, 
«*  supposing  that  my  friends  disclaim  all  intention  to  offend  yous 
on  that  case — " 

"In  that  case  I  should  be  glad,  Capt.  Beebee,  that  they  had 
changed  their  line  of  tactics — there  is  nothing  to  change  in  my 
own." 

"Then  what  are  we  to  understand  by  this  strange  refusal  of  a 
meeting,  Mr.  Carleton?  what  does  it  mean?" 

"  It  means  one  thing  in  my  own  mind,  sir,  and  probably  another 
in  yours  ;  but  the  outward  expression  I  choose  to  give  it  is  that  I 
will  not  reward  uncalled-for  rudeness  with  an  opportunity  of  self- 
vindication." 

"  You  are,"  said  Thorn  sneeringly,  "  probably  careless  as  to 
the  figure  your  own  name  will  cut  in  connection  with  this 
story  ?  " 

"  Entirely  so,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  eyeing  him  steadily. 

"  You  are  aware  that  your  character  is  at  our  mercy  ?" 

A  slight  bow  seemed  to  leave  at  their  disposal  the  very  small 
portion  of  his  character  he  conceived  to  lie  in  that  predicament. 

"  You  will  expect  to  hear  yourself  spoken  of  in  terms  that 
befit  a  man  who  has  cowed  out  of  an  engagement  he  dared  not 
fulfill?" 

"Of  course,"  said  Carleton  haughtily,  "by  my  present  refusal 
I  give  you  leave  to  say  all  that,  and  as  much  more  as  your  in 
genuity  can  furnish  in  the  same  style  ;  but  not  in  my  hearing,  sir." 

"You  can't  help  yourself,"  said  Thorn,  with  the  same  sneer. 
"  You  have  rid  yourself  of  a  gentleman's  means  of  protection,— • 
what  others  will  you  use  ?  " 

"  I  will  leave  that  to  the  suggestion  of  the  moment — I  do  not 
doubt  it  will  be  found  fruitful." 

Nobody  doubted  it  who  looked  just  then  on  his  steady  sparkling 
>ye. 

I  consider  the  championship  of  yesterday  given  up  of  course," 
Fhorn  went  on  in  a  kind  of  aside,  not  looking  at  anybody,  and 
striking  his  cigar  against  the  guards  to  clear  it  of  ashes  ;—"  the 
champion  has  quitted  the  field  ;  and  the  little  princess  but  lately  so 
walled  in  with  defences  must  now  listen  to  whatever  knight  and 
squire  may  please  to  address  to  her.  Nothing  remains  to  be  seen 
of  her  defender  but  his  spurs." 

"They  may  serve  for  the  heels  of  whoever  is  disposed  to  annoy 
her,"  said  Mr.  Carleton.  "  He  will  need  them." 
^  He  left  the  group  with  the  same  air  of  imperturbable  self-posses* 
sion  which  he  had  maintained  during  the  conference.  But  pres 
ently  Rossitur,  who  had  his  private  reasons  for  wishing  to  keep 
friends  wuh  an  acquaintance  who  might  be  of  service  in  more  ways 


IM  QUEECHY. 

than  one,  followed  him  and  declared  himself  to  have  been,  in  aH 
his  nonsense  to  Fleda,  most  undesirous  of  giving  displeasure  to 
her  temporary  guardian,  and  sorry  that  it  had  fallen  out  so.  He 
5poke  frankly,,  and  Mr.  Carleton,  with  the  same  cool  gracefulness 
with  ^hich  lie  had  carried  on  the  quarrel,  waived  his  displeasure, 
and  admitted  the  young  gentleman  apparently  to  stand  as  before  in 
his  favor.  Their  reconciliation  was  not  an  hour  old  when  Capt. 
Beebee  joined  them. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  must  trouble  you  wHth  a  word  more  on  this  dis 
agreeable  subject,  Mr.  Carleton,"  he  began,  after  a  ceremonious 
salutation, — "My  friend,  Lieut.  Thorn,  considers  himself  greatly 
outraged  by  your  determination  not  to  meet  him.  He  begs  to  ask, 
by  me,  whether  it  is  your  purpose  to  abide  by  it  at  all  hazards?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  There  is  some  misunderstanding  here,  which  I  greatly  regret. 
— I  hope  you  will  see  and  excuse  the  disagreeable  necessity  I  am 
under  of  delivering  the  rest  of  my  friend's  message." 

"  Say  on,  sir." 

• '  Mr.  Thorn  declares  that  if  you  deny  him  the  common  courtesy 
which  no  gentleman  refuses  to  another,  he  will  proclaim  your 
name  with  the  most  opprobrious  adjuncts  to  all  the  world  ;  and  in 
place  of  his  former  regard  he  will  hold  you  in  the  most  unlimited 
contempt,  which  he  will  have  no  scruple  about  showing  on  all 
occasions." 

Mr.  Carleton  colored  a  little,  but  replied  coolly. 

"  I  have  not  lived  in  Mr.  Thorn's  favor.  As  to  the  rest,  I  forgive 
him  ! — except  indeed  he  provoked  me  to  measures  for  which  I  never 
will  forgive  him." 

"  Measures  !  "  said  the  Captain. 

"  I  hope  not!  for  my  own  self-respect  would  be  more  grievously 
hurt  than  his.  But  there  is  an  unruly  spring  somewhere  about 
my  composition  that  when  it  gets  wound  up  is  once  in  a  while 
too  much  for  me." 

"  But,"  said  Rossitur,  "  pardon  me, — have  you  no  regard  to  the 
effect  of  his  misrepresentations  ?  " 

"You  are  mistaken,  Mr.  Rossitur,"  said  Carleton  slightly;— 
11  this  is  but  the  blast  of  a  bellows,— not  the  Simoom." 

"Then  what  answer  shall  I  have  the  honor  of  carrying  back 
to  my  friend  ?  "  said  Capt.  Beebee,  after  a  sort  of  astounded  pause 
Q{  a  few  minutes. 

*'  None,  of  my  sending,  sir." 

Capt.  Beebee  touched  his  cap,  and  went  back  to  Mr.  Thorn,  to 
whom  he  reported  that  the  young  Englishman  was  thoroughly  im 
practicable,  and  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  dealing 
with  him  ;  and  the  vexed  conclusion  of  Thorn's  own  mind,  m  the 
end,  was  in  favor  of  the  wisdom  of  letting  him  alone. 

In  a  very  different  mood,  saddened  and  disgusted,  Mr.  Carleton 
shook  himself  free  of  Rossitur,  and  went  and  stood  alone  by  the 
guards  looking  out  upon  the  sea.  He  did  not  at  all  regret  his 
promise  to  his  mother,  nor  wish  to  take  other  ground  than  that  he 
had  taken.  B.  ':h  the  theory  and  the  practice  of  duelling  he  heart 
ily  despised,  and  he  was  pot  weak  enough  to  fancy  that  he  had 
brought  any  discredit  »  A  either  his  sense  or  his  honor  by  z*« 


lit 

fusing  to  comply  with  an  unwarrantable  and  baroarous  custom. 
And  he  valued  mankind  too  little  to  be  at  all  concerned  about 
their  judgment  in  the  matter.  His  own  opinion  was  at  all  times 
enough  for  him.  But  the  miserable  folly  and  puerility  of  such  an 
altercation  as  that  in  which  he  had  just  been  engaged,  the  poor  dis 
play  of  human  character,  the  little  low 'passions  which  had  been 
called  up,  even  in  himself,  alike  destitute  of  worthy  cause  and 
aim,  and  Which  had.  perhaps  but  just  missed  ending  in  the  death 
of  some  and  the  living  death  of  others, — it  all  wrought  to  bring 
kim  back  to  his  old  wearying  of  human  nature  and  despondent 
gyeing  of  the  everywh°re  jarrings,  confusions  and  discordances  in 
ihe  moral  world.  The  fresh  sea-breeze  that  swept  by  the  ship, 
roughening  the  play  of  the  waves,  and  brushing  his  own  cheek 
with  its  health-bearing  wing,  brought  with  it  a  sad  feeling  of  con 
trast.  Free,  and  pure,  and  steadily  directed,  it  sped  on  its  way,  to 
do  its  work.  And  like  it  all  the  rest  of  the  natural  world,  faith- 
/a\  to  the  law  of  its  Maker,  was  stamped  \vith  the  same  signet  of 
perfection.  Only  man,  in  all  the  universe,  seemed  to  be  at  cross 
purposes  with  the  end  of  his  being.  Only  man,  of  all  animate  or 
inanimate  things,  lived  an  aimless,  fruitless,  broken  life, — or  fruit 
ful  only  in  evil.  How  was  this?  and  whence  ?  and  when  would  be 
the  end?  and  would  this  confused  mass  of  warring  elements  ever 
be  at  peace  ?  would  this  disordered  machinery  ever  work  smoothly, 
without  let  or  stop  any  more,  and  work  out  the  beautiful  something 
for  which  sure  it  was  designed  ?  And  could  any  hand  but  its  first 
Maker  mend  the  broken  wheel  or  supply  the  spring  that  was  want 
ing? 

Has  not  tae  Desire  of  all  nations  been  often  sought  of  eyes  that 
were  never  taught  where  to  look  for  him. 

Mr,  Garleton  was  standing  still  by  the  guards,  looking  thought 
fully  out  to  windward  to  meet  the  fresh  breeze,  as  if  the  Spirit  of  the 
Wilderness  were  in  it  and  could  teach  him  the  truth  that  the  Spirit 
of  the  World  knew  not  and  had  not  to  give,  when  he  became  sensi 
ble  of  something  close  beside  him  ;  and  looking  down  met  little 
Fleda's  upturned  face,  with  such  a  look  of  purity,  freshness,  and 
peace,  it  said  as  plainly  as  ever  the  dial-plate  of  a  clock  that  thai 
little  piece  of  machinery  was  working  right.  There  was  a  sunlight 
.ipon  it  too,  of  happy  confidence  and  affection.  Mr.  Carleton's 
nind  experienced  a  sudden  revulsion.  Fleda  might  see  the  reflec* 
don  of  her  own  light  in  his  face  as  he  helped  her  up  to  a  stand 
where  she  could  be  more  on  a  level  with  him  ;  putting  his  arm 
round  her  to  guard  against  any  sudden  roll  of  the  ship. 

"  What  makes  you  wear  such  a  happy  face  ?  "  said  he,  with  an 
expression  half  envious,  half  regretful. 

"  I  don't  know  !  "  said  Fleda  innocently.     "You,  I  suppose/ 

He  looked  as  bright  as  she  did,  for  a  minute. 

"  Were  you  ever  angry,  Elfie  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know — "  said  Fleda.     "  I  don't  know  but  I  have." 

He  smiled  to  see  that  although  evidently  her  memory  could  not 
bring  the  charge,  her  modesty  would  not  deny  it. 

"  Were  you  not  angry  yesterday  with  your  cousin  and  that  un 
mannerly  friend  of  his?  '* 


118  QOEECHY. 

"No,"  said   Fleda,   a  shade   crossing  htr  tace,—  *•  i  wab  art 


And  as  she  spoke  her  hand  was  softly  put  upon  Mr.  Carleton's  ; 
as  if  partly  in  the  fear  of  what  might  have  grown  out  of  his  anger, 
and  partly  in  thankfullness  to  him  that  he  had  rendered  it  unneces 
sary.  There  was  a  singular  delicate  timidity  and  tenderness  in  the 
action. 

"I  wish  I  had  your  secret,  Elfie,"  said,  Mr.  Carleton,  looking 
wistfully  into  the  clear  eyes  that  met  his. 

"  What  secret  ?  "  said  Fleda  smiling. 

"  You  say  one  can  always  do  right  —  is  that  the  reason  you  ait; 
flappy  ?  —  because  you  follow  that  out  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Fleda  seriously.  "But  I  think  it  is  a  great  deal 
pleasanter." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  at  all  of  that,  neither,  I  dare  say,  have  the  rest 
of  the  world  ;  only  somehow  when  it  comes  to  the  point  they  find  it 
is  easier  to  do  wrong.  What's  your  secret,  Elfie  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  any  secret,"  said  Fleda.  But  presently  seeming  to 
bethink  herself,  she  added  gently  and  gravely, 

"  Aunt  Miriam  says  —  " 

"What?" 

"She  says  that  when  we  love  Jesus  Christ  it  is  easy  to  please 
him." 

"And  do  you  love  him,  Elfie?"  Mr.  Carleton  asked  after  a 
minute. 

Her  answer  was  a  very  quiet  and  sober  "  yes." 

He  doubted  still  whether  she  were  not  unconsciously  using  a  form 
of  speech  the  spirit  of  which  she  did  not  quite  realize.  That  one 
might  "  not  see  and  yet  believe,"  he  could,  understand  ;  but  for 
affection  to  go  forth  toward  an  unseen  object  was  another  matter. 
His  question  was  grave  and  acute. 

"  By  what  do  you  judge  that  you  do,  Elfie  ?  " 

"  Why,  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Fleda,  with  an  instant  look  of  ap 
peal,  "  who  else  should  I  love  ?  " 

"  If  not  him"  —  her  eye  and  her  voice  made  sufficiently  plain. 
Mr.  Carleton  was  obliged  to  confess  to  himself  that  she  spoke  intel 
ligently,  with  deeper  intelligence  than  he  could  follow.  He  asked 
no  more  questions.  Yet  truth  shines  by  its  own  light,  like  the  sun. 
He  had  not  perfectly  comprehended  her  answers,  but  they  struck 
him  as  something  that  deserved  to  be  understood,  and  he  resolved 
so  make  the  truth  of  them  his  own. 

The  rest  of  the  voyage  was  perfectly  quiet.  Following  the  earn 
est  advice  of  his  friend  Capt.  Beebee,  Thorn  had  given  up  trying  to 
push  Mr.  Carleton  to  extremity  ;  who  on  his  part  did  not  seem  con 
scious  of  Thorn's  existence. 


QUEECHY.  II' 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

There  the  most  daintie  paradise  on  ground 
Itselfe  doth  offer  to  his  sober  eye,  — 
-  The  painted  flowres,  the  trees  upshooting  hye, 
The  dales  for  shade,  the  hills  for  breathing  space, 
The  trembling  groves,  the  christall  running  by  ; 
And  that,  which  all  faire  works  doth  most  aggrace, 
The  art  which  all  that  wrought  appeared  in  no  place 

FAERY 


THEY  had  taken  ship  for  London,  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carleton 
wished  to  visit  home  for  a  day  or  two  before  going  on  to  Paris.  So 
leaving  Charlton  to  carry  news  of  them  to  the  French  capital,  so 
soon  as  he  could  persuade  himself  to  leave  the  English  one,  they 
with  little  Fleda  in  company  posted  down  to  Carleton,  in  -- 
shire. 

It  was  a  time  of  great  delight  to  Fleda,  that  is,  as  soon  as  Mr. 
Carleton  had  made  her  feel  at  home  in  England  ;  and  somehow  he 
had  contrived  to  do  that  and  to  scatter  some  clouds  of  remembrance 
that  seemed  to  gather  about  her,  before  they  had  reached  the  end 
of  their  first  day's  journey.  To  be  out  of  the  ship  was  itself  a  com 
fort,  and  to  be  alone  with  kind  friends  was  much  more.  With 
great  joy  Fleda  put  her  cousin  Charlton  and  Mr.  Thorn  at  once 
out  of  sight  and  out  of  mind  ;  and  gave  herself  with  even  more  than 
her  usual  happy  readiness  to  everything  the  way  and  the  end  of 
the  way  had  for  her.  Those  days  were  to  be  painted  days  in 
Fleda'  s  memory. 

She  thought  Carleton  was  a  very  odd  place.  That  is,  the  house, 
not  the  village  which  went  by  the  same  name.  If  the  manner  of 
her  two  companions  had  not  been  such  as  to  put  her  entirely  at  her 
ease  she  would  have  felt  strange  and  shy.  '  As  it  was  she  felt  half 
afraid  of  losing  herself  in  the  house  ;  to  Fleda's  unaccustomed 
eyes  it  was  a  labyrinth  of  halls  and  staircases,  set  with  the  most  un« 
accountable  number  and  variety  of  rooms  ;  old  and  new,  quainf 
and  comfortable,  gloomy  and  magnificent  ;  some  with  stern  old 
fashioned  massiveness  of  style  and  garniture  ;  others  absolutely  be* 
witching  (to  Fleda's  eyes  and  understanding)  in  the  rich  beauty 
and  luxuriousness  of  their  arrangements.  Mr.  Carleton's  own  par 
ticular  haunts  were  of  these  ;  his  private  room,  the  little  library  as 
it  was  called,  the  library,  and  the  music-room,  which  was  indeed 
rather  a  gallery  of  the  fine  arts,  so  many  treasures  of  art  were  gath 
ered  there.  To  an  older  and  nice-judging  person  these  rooms 
would  have  given  no  slight  indications  of  their  owner's  mind  —  it 
had  been  at  work  on  every  corner  of  them.  No  particular  fashion 
had  been  followed,  in  anything,  nor  any  model  consulted  but  that 
which  fancy  had  built  to  the  mind's  order.  The  wealth  of  years 
had  drawn  together  an  enormous  assemblage  of  matters,  great  and 
small,  every  one  of  which  was  fitted  either  to  excite  fancy,  or  sug 
gest  thought,  or  to  satisfy  the  eye  by  its  nice  adaptation.  And  if 


120  QUEECSTf. 

pride  had  had  the  ordering  of  them,  all  these  might  have  been  tnH 
a  costly  museum,  a  literary  alphabet  that  its  possessor  could  not 
put  together,  an  ungainly  confession  of  ignorance  on  the  part  of  the 
intellect  that  could  do  nothing  with  this  rich  heap  of  material.  But 
pride  was  not  the  genius  of  the  place.  A  most  refined  taste  and 
curious  fastidiousness  had  arranged  and  harmonized  all  the  hetero 
geneous  items  ;  the  mental  hieroglyphics  had  been  ordered  by  one 
to  whom  the  reading  of  them  was  no  mystery.  Nothing  struck  a 
stranger  at  first  entering,  except  the  very  rich  effect  and  faultless 
air  of  the  whole,  and  perhaps  the  delicious  facilities  for  every  kinc? 
of  intellectual  cultivation  which  appeared  on  every  hand  ;  facilities 
which  it  must  be  allowed  do  seem  in  general  not  to  facilitate  the 
work  they  are  meant  to  speed.  In  this  case  however  it  was  differ 
ent.  The  mind  that  wanted  them  had  brought  them  together  to 
satisfy  its  own  craving. 

These  rooms  were  Guy's  peculiar  domain.  In  other  parts  of  the 
house,  where  his  mother  reigned  conjointly  with  him,  their  joint 
tastes  had  struck  out  another  style  of  adornment  which  might  be 
called  a  style  of  superb  elegance.  Not  superb  alone,  for  taste  had 
not  permitted  so  heavy  a  characteristic  to  be  predominant ;  not 
merely  elegant,  for  the  fineness  of  all  the  details  would  warrant  an 
ampler  word.  A  larger  part  of  the  house  than  both  these  together 
had  been  left  as  generations  past  had  left  it,  in  various  stages  of 
refinement,  comfort  and  comeliness.  It  was  a  day  or  two  before 
Fleda  found  out  that  Tt  was  all  one  ;  she  thought  at  first  that  it  was 
a  collection  of  several  houses  that  had  somehow  inexplicably  sat 
down  there  with  their  backs  to  each  other  ;  it  was  so  straggling  and 
irregular  a  pile  of  building,  covering  so  much  ground,  and  looking 
so  very  unlike  the  different  parts  to  each  other.  One  portion  was 
quite  old  ;  the  other  parts  ranged  variously  between  the  present 
and  the  far  past.  After  she  once  understood  this  it  was  a  piece  of 
delicious  wonderment  and  musing  and  great  admiration  to  Fleda ; 
she  never  grew  weary  of  wandering  round  it  and  thinking  about  it, 
for  from  a  child  fanciful  meditation  was  one  of  her  delights. 
Within  doors,  she  best  liked  Mr.  Carleton's  favorite  rooms.  Their 
rich  coloring  and  moderated  light  and  endless  stores  of  beauty  and 
curiosity  made  them  a  place  of  fascination. 

Out  of  doors  she  found  still  more  to  delight  her.  Morning  noon 
and  night  she  might  be  seen  near  the  house  gazing,  taking  in  pic 
tures  of  natural  beauty  which  were  for  ever  after  to  hang  in  Fleda'f 
snemory  as  standards  of  excellence  in  that  sort.  Nature's  hand 
had  been  very  kind  to  the  place,  moulding  the  ground  in  beautiful 
style.  Art  had  made  happy  use  of  the  advantage  thus  given  her; 
and  now  what  appeared  was  neither  art  nor  nature,  but  a  perfection 
that  can  only  spring  from  the  hands  of  both.  Fleda' s  eyes  were 
bewitched.  She  stood  watching  the  rolling  slopes  of  green  turf,  so 
soft  and  lovely,  and  the  magnificent  trees,  (hat  had  kept  their 
ground  for  ages  and  seen,  generations  rise  and  fall  before  their 
growing  strength  and  grandeur.  They  were  scattered  here  and 
there  on  the  lawn,  and  further  back  stood  on  the  heights  and 
Btretched  along  the  ridges  of  the  undulating  ground,  the  outposts 
t>f  a  w  od  of  the  same  growth  still  beyond  them. 

••  HPW  <to  you  like  it,  Eifie  ? "  Mr.  Carleton  asked  her  the  even* 


QUEECBY.  131 

ing  of  the  first  day,  as  he  saw  her  for  a  length  of  time  looking  out 
gravely  and  intently  from  before  the  hall  door. 

"  I  think  it  is  beautiful !  "  said  Fleda.  "  The  ground  is  a  great 
deal  smoother  here  than  it  was  at  home." 

"I'll  take  you  to  ride  to-morrow,"  said  he  smiling,  "and  show 
you  rough  ground  enough." 

"As  you  did  when  we  came  from  Montepoole?"  said  Fleda 
rather  eagerly. 

"  Would  you  like  that  ?  " 

I:  Yes,  very  much, — if  you  would  like  it,  Mr.  Carleton." 

"  Very  well,"  said  he.     "  So  it  shall  be." 

And  not  a  day  passed  during  their  short  stay  that  he  did  not  give 
tier  one  of  those  rides.  He  showed  her  rough  ground,  according 
to  his  promise,  but  Fleda  still  thought  it  did  not  look  much  like  the 
mountains  "at  home."  And  indeed  unsightly  roughnesses  had 
been  skilfully  covered  or  removed  ;  and  though  a  large  part  of  the 
park,  which  was  a  very  extensive  one,  was  wildly  broken  and  had 
apparently  been  left  as  nature  left  it,  the  hand  of  taste  had  been 
there  ;  and  many  an  unsuspected  touch  instead  of  hindering  had 
heightened  both  the  wild  and  the  beautiful  character.  Landscape 
gardening  had  long  been  a  great  hobby  of  its  owner. 

"How  far  does  your  ground  come,  Mr.  Carleton?"  inquired 
Fleda  on  one  of  these  rides,  when  they  had  traveled  a  good  distance 
from  home. 

"  Further  than  you  can  see,  Elfie." 

"  Further  than  I  can  see  !-*-It  mu.at  be  a  very  large  farm  !  " 

"This  is  not  a  farm  where  we  are  now,"  said  he  ; — "  did  you 
mean  that  ? — this  is  the  park ;  we  are  almost  at  the  edge  of  it  on 
this  side." 

"What  is  the  difference  between  a  farm  and  a  park?"  said 
Fleda. 

"  The  grounds  of  a  farm  are  tilled  for  profit ;  a  park  is  an  uncul 
tivated  enclosure  kept  merely  for  men  and  women  and  deer  to  take 
pleasure  in." 

"  /have  taken  a  good  deal  of  pleasure  in  it,"  said  Fleda.  "And 
have  you  a  farm  besides,  Mr.  Carleton?" 

"  A  good  many,  Elfie." 

^  Fleda  looked  surprised  ;  and  then  remarked  that  it  must  be  very 
1»ce  to  have  such  a  beautiful  piece  of  ground  just  for  pleasure. 

She  enjoyed  it  to  the  full  during  the  few  days  she  was  there. 
&nd  one  thing  more,  the  grand  piano  in  the  music-room.  The 
first  evening  of  their  arrival  she  was  drawn  by  the  far-off  sounds, 
and  Mrs.  Carleton  seeing  it  went  immediately  to  the  music-room 
rvith  her.  The  room  had  no  light,  except  from  the  moonbeams  that 
stole  in  through  two  glass  doors  which  opened  upon  a  particularly 
private  and  cherished  part  of  the  grounds,  in  summer-time  full  of 
flowers  ;  for  in  the  very  refinement  of  luxury  delights  had  been 
crowded  about  this  favorite  apartment.  Mr.  Carleton  \vas  at  the 
instrument,  playing.  Fleda  sat  down  quietly  in  one  corner  and 
listened, — in  a  rapture  of  pleasure  she  had  hardly  ever  known  from 
any  like  source.  She  did  not  think  it  could  be  greater  ;  till  nft?r  a 
time,  in  a  pause  of  the  music,  Mrs.  Carleton  asked  her  son  to  sing 
a  particular  ballad  ;  and  that  one  was  followed  by  two  or  three 


122  QUEECHY. 

wore.  Fleda  left  het  corner,  she  could  not  contain  herself,  an4 
favored  by  the  darkness  came  forward  and  stood  quite  near ;  and  H 
the  performer  had  had  light  to  see  by,  he  would  have  been  gratified 
with  the  tribute  paid  to  his  power  by  the  unfeigned  tears  that  ran 
down  her  cheeks.  This  pleasure  was  also  repeated  from  evening  to 
evening. 

"  Do  you  know  we  set  off  for  Paris  to-morrow?  "  said  Mrs.  Car 
leton  the  last  evening  of  their  stay,  as  Fleda  came  up  to  the  door 
after  a  prolonged  ramble  in  the  park,  leaving  Mr.  Carleton  witt* 
one  or  two  gardeners  at  a  little  distance. 

"Yes!"  said  Fleda,  with  a  sigh  that  was  more  than  halt 
audible. 

•Are  you  sorry  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Carleton  smiling. 
I  cannot  be  glad,"   said  Fleda,  giving  a  sober  look  ovei  th« 
lawn. 

Then  you  like  Carleton  ?  " 

Very  much  ! — It  is  a  prettier  place  than  Queechy." 
But  we  shall  have   you   here  again,   dear  Fleda,"  said  Mrs. 
Carleton,  restraining  her  smile  at  this,  to  her,  very  moderate  compli 
ment. 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  Fleda  quietly. — "Mr.  Carleton  said,"  she 
added  a  minute  after  with  more  animation,  "that  a  park  was  a 
place  for  men  and  women  and  deer  to  take  pleasure  in.  I  am 
sure  it  is  for  children  too.!  " 

Did  you  have  a  pleasant  ride  this  morning?  " 
O  very  ! — I  always  do.     There  isn't  anything  I  like  so  well." 
What,  as  to  ride  on  horseback  with  Guy  ? ' '  said  Mrs- .  Carleton 
looking  exceedingly  benignant. 
'  Yes, — unless — " 
Unless  what,  my  dear  Fleda?" 

Unless,    perhaps, — I  don't  know, — I  was  going  to  say,  unless 
perhaps  to  hear  him  sing." 

Mrs.  Carleton's  delight  was  unequivocally  expressed  ;  and  she 
promised  Fleda  that  she  should  have  both  rides  and  songs  there 
in  plenty  another  time  ;  a  promise  upon  which  Fleda  built  no  trust 
at  all. 

The  short  journey  to  Paris  was  soon  made.  The  next  morning 
Mrs.  Carleton  making  an  excuse  of  her  fatigue  left  Guy  to  end  the 
Care  he  had  rather  taken  upon  himself  by  delivering  his  little 
Charge  into  the  hands  of  her  friends.  So  they  drove  to  the  Hotel 
«__,  Rue ,  where  Mr.  Rossitur  had  apartments  in  very  hand 
some  style.  They  found  him  alone  in  the  saloon. 

"  Ha  !  Carleton — come  back  again.  Just  in  time—very  glad  to 
see  you.  And  who  is  this? — Ah,  another  little  daughter  for  aunt 
Lucy." 

Mr.  Rossitur,  who  gave  them  this  greeting  very  cordially,  was 
rather  a  fine-looking  man  ;  decidedly  agreeable  both  in  person  and 
manner.  Fleda  was  pleasantly  disappointed  after  what  her  grand 
father  had  led  her  to  expect.  There  might  be  something  of  stern 
ness  in  his  expression  ;  people  gave  him  credit  for  a  peremptory, 
not  to  say  imperious  temper ;  but  if  truly,  it  could  not  often  meet 
with  opposition.  The  sense  and  gentlemanly  character  which 
maked  his  face  and  bearing  had  an  air  of  smooth  politeness  wh&fe 


QUEECBT.  123 

Seemed  habitual.  There  was  no  want  of  kindness  nor  even  of  ten 
derness  in  the  way  he  drew  Fleda  within  his  arm  and  held  there, 
while  he  went  on  talking  to  Mr.  Carleton  ;  now  and  then  stooping 
his  face  to  look  in  at  her  bonnet  and  kiss  her,  which  was  his  only 
welcome.  He  said  nothing  to  her  after  his  first  question. 

He  was  too  busy  talking  to  Guy.  He  seemed  to  have  a  great 
deal  to  tell  him.  There  was  this  for  him  to  see,  and  that  for  him 
to  hear,  and  charming  new  things  which  had  been  done  or  doing 
since  Mr.  Carleton  left  Paris.  The  impression  upon  Fleda's  mind 
after  listening  awhile  was  that  the  French  capital  was  a  great  Gal 
lery  of  the  Fine  Arts,  with  a  magnified  likeness  of  Mr.  Carleton's 
music-room  at  one  end  of  it.  She  thought  her  uncle  must  be  most 
extraordinarily  fond  of  pictures  and  works  of  art  in  general,  and 
must  have  a  great  love  for  seeing  company  and  hearing  people 
sing.  This  latter  taste  Fleda  was  disposed  to  allow  might  be  a 
very  reasonable  one.  Mr.  Carleton,  she  observed,  seemed  much 
more  cool  on  the  whole  subject.  But  meanwhile  where  was  aunt 
Lucy  ? — and  had  Mr.  Rossitur  forgotten  the  little  armful  that  he 
held  so  fast  and  so  perseveringly  ?  No,  for  here  was  another  kiss, 
and  another  look  into  her  face,  so  kind  that  Fleda  gave  him  a  piece 
of  her  heart  from  that  time. 

"  Hugh  !  "  said  Mr.  Rossitur  suddenly  to  somebody  she  had  not 
seen  before, — "  Hugh ! — here  is  your  little  cousin.  Take  her  off  to 
your  mother." 

A  child  came  forward  at  this  bidding  hardly  larger  than  herself. 
He  was  a  slender  graceful  little  figure,  with  nothing  of  the  boy  in 
his  face  or  manner ;  delicate  as  a  girl,  and  with  something  almost 
melancholy  in  the  gentle  sweetness  of  his  countenance.  Fleda's 
confidence  was  given  to  it  on  the  instant,  which  had  not  been  the 
ease  with  anything  in  her  uncle,  and  she  yielded  without  reluc 
tance  the  hand  he  took  to  obey  his  father's  command.  Before 
two  steps  had  been  taken  however,  she  suddenly  broke  away  from 
him  and  springing  to  Mr.  Carleton' s  side  silently  laid  her  hand  in 
his.  She  made  no  answer  whatever  to  a  light  word  or  two  of  kind 
ness  that  he  spoke  just  for  her  ear.  She  listened  with  downcast 
eyes  and  a  lip  that  he  saw  was  too  unsteady  to  be  trusted,  and 
then  after  9.  moment  more,  without  looking,  pulled  away  her  haiid 
and  followed  her  cousin.  Hugh  did  not  once  get  a  sight  of  hef 
face  on  the  way  to  his  mother's  room,  but  owing  to  her  exceeding 
efforts  and  quiet  generalship  he  never  guessed  the  cause.  There 
was  nothing  in  her  face  to  raise  suspicion  when  he  reached  the 
door  and  opening  it  announced  her  with, 

"Mother,  here's  cousin  Fleda  come." 

Fleda  had  seen  her  aunt  before,  though  several  years  back, 
and  not  long  enough  to  get  acquainted  with  her.  But  no  matter ; 
— it  was  her  mother's  sister  sitting  there,  whose  face  gave  her  so 
lovely  a  welcome  at  that  speech  of  Hugh's,  whose  arms  were 
stretched  out  so  eagerly  toward  her ;  and  springing  to  them  as  to  a 
very  haven  of  rest  Fleda  wept  on  her  bosom  those  delicious  tears 
that  are  only  shed  where  the  heart  is  at  home.  And  even  before 
they  were  dried  the  ties  were  knit  that  bound  her  to  her  new 
sphere. 

'Who  came  with  you,  dear  Fleda?"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur  then. 


124 

1  Is  Mrs.  Carleton  here  ?    I  must  go  and  thank  her  for  bringing  you 
tome." 

'"  Mr.   Carleton  is  here,"  said  Hugh. 

"  I  must  go  and  thank  him  then.  Jump  down,  dear  Fleda — 
I'll  be  back  in  a  minute." 

Fleda  got  off  her  lap,  and  stood  looking  in  a  kind  of  enchanted 
maze,  while  her  aunt  hastily  arranged 'her  hair  at  the  glass.  Look- 
ing,  while, fancy  and  memory  were  making  strong  the  net  in  which 
her  heart  was  caught.  She  was  trying  to  see  something  of  hef 
mother  in  one  who  had  shared  her  blood  and  her  affection  so  nearly. 
A  miniature  of  that  mother  was  left  to  Fleda,  and  she  had  studied  it 
till  she  could  hardly  persuade  herself  that  she  had  not  some  recol 
lection  of  the  original ;  and  now  she  thought  she  caught  a  precious 
shadovr  of  something  like  it  in  her  aunt  Lucy.  Not  in  those  pretty 
bright  eyes  which  had  looked  through  kind  tears  so  lovingly  upon  her; 
but  in  the  graceful  ringlets  about  the  temples,  the  delicate  contour  of 
the  face,  and  a  something,  Fleda  could  only  have  said  it  was  "  a 
something,"  about  the  mouth  when  at  rest,  the  shadow  of  her 
mother's  image  rejoiced  her  heart.  Rather  that  faint  shadow  of  the 
loved  lost  one  for  little  Fleda,  than  any  other  form  or  combination 
of  beauty  on  earth.  As  she  stood  fascinated,  watching  the  move 
ments  of  her  aunt's  light  figure,  Fleda  drew  a  long  breath  with 
which  went  off  the  whole  burden  of  doubt  and  anxiety  that  had 
lain  upon  her  mind  ever  since  the  journey  began.  She  had  not 
known  it  was  there,  but  she  felt  it  go.  Yet  even  when  that  sigh  of 
relief  was  breathed,  and  while  fancy  and  feeling  were  weaving  theif 
rich  embroidery  into  the  •  very  tissue  of  Fleda's  happiness,  most 
persons  would  have  seen  merely  that  the  child  looked  very  sober, 
and  have  thought  probably  that  she  felt  very  tired  and  strange. 
Perhaps  Mrs.  Rossitur  thought  so,  for  again  tenderly  kissing  her  be 
fore  she  left  the  room  she  told  Hugh  to  take  off  her  things  and 
make  her  feel  at  home. 

Hugh  upon  this  made  Fleda  sit  down  and  proceeded  to  untie  her 
tippet  strings  and  take  off  her  coat  with  an  air  of  delicate  tenderness 
which  showed  he  had  great  pleasure  in  his  task,  and  which  made 
Fleda  take  a  good  deal  of  pleasure  in  it  too. 

"  Are  you  tired,  cousin  Fleda  ?  "  said  he  gently. 

'•  No,"  said  Fleda.     "  O  no  !  " 

*•  Charlton  said  you  were  tired  on  board  ship.*' 

•'  I  wasn't  tired,"  said  Fleda,  in  not  a  little  surprise  ;  "  I  likeci  S 
*ery  much." 

"Then  maybe  I  mistook.  I  know  Charlton  said  he  was  tired,  and 
I  thought  he  said  you  were  too.  You  know  my  brother  Charltonr 
don't  you?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Are  you  glad  to  come  to  Paris?" 

"  I  am  glad  now,"  said  Fleda.     •«  I  wasn't  glad  before." 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  said  Hugh.     "  I  think  you  will  like  it.     We 
didn't   know  you  were  coming  till  two  or  three  days  ago  when 
Charlton  got  here.     Do  you  like  to  take  walks  ?  " 
Yes,  very  much." 

•  Father  and  mother  will  take  us  delightful  walks  in  the  Tuiler- 
tea.  the  gardens  you  know,  and  the  Champs  Ely  sees,  and  Versailles, 


And  the  Boulevards,  and  ever  so  many  places  ;  and  it  will  b?  a  great 
deal  pleasanter  now  you  are  here.  Do  you  know  French  > 

"  No." 

"  Then  you'll  have  to  learn.  I'll  help  you  if  you  will  let  me.  It 
is  very  easy.  Did  you  get  my  last  letter?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Fleda, — "the  last  one  I  had  came  with 
one  of  aunt  Lucy's,  telling  me  about  Mrs.  Carleton — I  got  it  just  be* 
fore  " — 

Alas!  before  what?  Fleda  suddenly  remembered,  anc  was 
9topped  short.  From  all  the  strange  scenes  and  interests  which 
fetely  had  whirled  her  along,  her  spirit  leaped  back  with  strong  yearn 
ing  recollection  to  her  old  home  and  her  old  ties  ;  and  such  a  ram 
of  tears  witnessed  the  dearness  of  what  she  had  lost  and  the  tender* 
ness  of  the  memory  that  had  let  them  slip  for  a  moment,  that  Hugh 
was  as  much  distressed  as  startled.  With  great  tenderness  and 
touching  delicacy  he  tried  to  soothe  her  and  at  the  same  time, 
though  guessing,  to  find  out  what  was  the  matter,  lest  he  should 
make  a  mistake. 

"  Just  before  what?  "  said  he,  laying  his  hand  caressingly  on  his 
little  cousin's  shoulder  ; — "  Don't  grieve  so,  dear  Fleda  !  " 

"  It  was  only  just  before  grandpa  died,"  said  Fleda. 

Hugh  had  known  of  that  before,  though  like  her  he  had  forgotten 
it  for  a  moment.  A  little  while  his  feelings  was  too  strong  to  permit 
any  further  attempt  at  condolence  ;  but  as  he  saw  Fleda  grow  quiet 
he  took  courage  to  speak  again. 

"  Was  he  a  good  man?  "  he  asked  softly. 

"Oh  yes!  " 

"  Then,"  said  Hugh,  '•  you  know  he  is  happy  now,  Fleda.  If  he 
loved  Jesus  Christ  he  is  gone  to  be  with  him.  That  ought  to  make 
you  glad  as  well  as  sorry." 

Fleda  looked  up,  though  tears  were  streaming  yet,  to  give  that 
full  happy  answer  of  the  eye  that  no  words  could  do.  This  was  con 
solation,  and  sympathy.  The  two  children  had  a  perfect  under 
standing  of  each  other  from  that  time  forward ;  a  fellowship  that 
never  knew  a  break  nor  a  weakening. 

Mrs.  Rossitur  found  on  her  return  that  Hugh  had  obeyed  her 
charge  to  the  letter.  He  had  made  Fleda  feel  at  home.  They  were 
sitting  close  together,  Hugh's  hand  affectionately  clasping  hers,  and 
she  was  holding  forth  on  some  subject  with  a  gracious  politeness  thaf 
j«any  of  his  elders  might  have  copied  ;  while  Fleda  listened  and 
absented  with  entire  satisfaction.  The  rest  of  the  morning  she  passed 
in  her  aunt's  arms;  drink  draughts  of  pleasure  from  those  deal 
bright  eyes  ;  taking  in  the  balm  of  gentlest  words  of  love,  and  soft 
kisses,  every  one  of  which  was  felt  at  the  bottom  of  Fleda' s  heart, 
and  the  pleasure  of  talking  over  her  young  sorrows  with  one  who 
could  feel  them  all  and  answer  with  tears  as  well  as  words  of  sym 
pathy.  And  Hugh  stood  by  the  while  looking  at  his  little  orphan 
cousin  as  if  she  might  have  dropped  from  the  clouds  into  his 
mother's  lap,  a  rare  jewel  or  delicate  flower,  but  much  more  deli 
cate  and  precious  than  they  or  any  other  possible  gift. 

Hugh  and  Fleda  dined  alone.  For  as  he  informed  her  his  father 
never  would  have  children  at  the  dinner-table  when  he  had  com 
pany  ;  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carleton  and  other  people  were  to  be 


128  QVEECHY. 

there  to-day.  Fleda  *iade  no  remark  on  the  subject,  by  word  of 
look,  but  she  thought  none  the  less.  She  thought  it  was  a  very 
mean  fashion.  She  ntt  come  to  the  table  when  strangers  were 
there  !  And  who  would  enjoy  them  more  ?  When  Mr.  Rosskut 
and  Mr.  Carleton  had  dined  with  her  grandfather,  had  she  not 
taken  as  much  pleasure  in  their  society,  and  in  the  whole  thing,  as 
any  other  one  of  the  party  ?  And  at  Carleton,  had  she  not  several 
times  dined  with  a  tableful,  and  been  unspeakably  amused  to  watch 
the  different  manners  and  characteristics  of  people  who  were  strange 
50  her?  However,  Mr.  Rossitur  had  other  notions.  So  she  anc 
Hugh  had  their  dinner  in  aunt  Lucy's  dressing-room,  by  them 
selves  ;  am\  a  very  nice  dinner  it  was,  Fleda  thought ;  and  Rosalinep 
Mrs.  Rossitur's  French  maid,  was  well  affected  and  took  admirable 
care  of  them.  Indeed  before  the  close  of  the  day  Rosaline  privately 
informed  her  mistress,  "  qu'elle  serait  entetee  surement  de  cet  enfant 
dans  trois  jours  ;"  and  "  que  son  regard  vraiment  lui  serrait  le 
cceur."  And  Hugh  was  excellent  company,  failing  all  other,  and 
did  the  honors  of  the  table  with  the  utmost  thoughtfulness,  and 
amused  Fleda  the  whole  time  with  accounts  of  Paris  and  what  they 
would  do  and  what  she  should  see  ;  and  how  his  sister  Marion  was 
at  school  at  a  convent,  and  what  kind  of  a  place  a  convent  was  ; 
and  how  he  himself  always  staid  at  home  and  learned  of  his  mother 
and  his  father  ;  "  or  by  himself,"  he  said,  "just  as  it  happened  ;  " 
and  he  hoped  they  would  keep  Fleda  at  home  too.  So  Fleda  hoped 
exceedingly,  but  this  stern  rule  about  the  dining  had  made  her  feel 
a  little  shy  of  her  uncle  ;  she  thought  perhaps  he  was  not  kind  and 
indulgent  to  children  like  her  aunt  Lucy  ;  and  if  he  said  she  must 
go  to  a  convent  she  would  not  dare  to  ask  him  to  let  her  stay.  The 
next  time  she  saw  him  however,  she  was  obliged  to  change  her 
opinion  again,  in  part ;  for  he  was  very  kind  and  indulgent,  both  to 
her  and  Hugh  ;  and  more  than  that  he  was  very  amusing.  He 
showed  her  pictures,  and  told  her  new  and  interesting  things  ;  and 
finding  that  she  listened  eagerly  he  seemed  pleased  to  prolong  her 
pleasure,  even  at  the  expense  of  a  good  deal  of  his  own  time. 

Mr.  Rossitur  was  a  man  of  cultivated  mind  and  very  refined  and 
fastidious  taste.  He  lived  for  the  pleasures  of  Art  and  Literature 
and  the  society  where  these  are  valued.  For  this,  and  not  without 
some  secret  love  of  display,  he  lived  in  Paris  ;  not  extravagant  in 
kis  pleasures,  nor  silly  in  his  ostentation,  but  leading,  like  a  gentle 
man,  as  worthy  and  rational  a  life  as  a  man  can  lead  who  lives  only 
£O  himself,  with  no  further  thought  than  to  enjoy  the  passing  hours. 
Mr.  Rossitur  enjoyed  them  elegantly,  and  for  a  man  of  the  world, 
moderately,  bestowing  however  few  of  those  precious  hours  upon 
his  children.  It  was  his  maxim  that  they  should  be  kept  out  of  the 
way  whenever  their  presence  might  by  any  chance  interfere  with 
the  amusements  of  their  elders  ;  and  this  maxim,  a  good  one  cer 
tainly  in  some  hands,  was  in  his  reading  of  it  a  very  broad  one. 
Still  when  he  did  take  time  to  give  his  family  he  was  a  delightful 
companion  to  those  of  them  *vho  could  understand  him.  If  they 
showed  no  taste  for  sensible  pleasure  he  had  no  patience  with  them 
nor  desire  of  their  company.  Report  had  done  him  no  wrong  in 
giving  him  a  stern  temper  ;  but  this  almost  never  came  out  in  actual 
exercise;  Fleda  knew  it  only  tram  an  occasional  hint  now  and 


QUJ5ECHY.  Iff 

then,  and  by  her  childish  intuitive  reading  of  the  lines  it  had  drawn 
round  the  mouth  and  brow.  It  had  no  disagreeable  bearing  on  his 
everyday  life  and  manner  ;  and  the  quiet  fact  probably  served  but 
to  heighten  the  love  and  reverence  in  which  his  family  held  him 
yery  high. 

Mr.  Rossitur  did  once  moot  the  question  whether  Fleda  should 
*iot  join  Marion  at  her  convent.  But  his  wife  looked  very  grave 
<and  said  that  she  was  too  tender  and  delicate  a  little  thing  to  be 
trusted  to  the  hands  of  strangers;  Hugh  pleaded,  and  argued  tha? 
she  might  share  all  his  lessons  ;  and  Fleda' s  own  face  pleaded 
vnore  powerfully.  There  was  something  appealing  in  its  extreme 
delicacy  and  purity  which  seemed  to  call  for  shelter  and  protection 
from  every  rough  breath  of  the  world  ;  and  Mr.  Rossitur  was  easily 
persuaded  to  let  her  remain  in  the  stronghold  of  home.  Hugh  had 
never  quitted  it.  Neither  father  nor  mother  ever  thought  of  such  a 
thing.  He  was  the  cherished  idol  of  the  whole  family.  Always  a 
delicate  child,  always  blameless  in  life  and  behavior,  his  loveliness 
of  mind  and  person,  his  affectionateness,  the  winning  sweetness  that 
was  about  him  like  a  halo,  and  the  slight  tenure  by  which  they 
seemed  to  hold  him,  had  wrought  to  bind  the  hearts  of  father  and 
mother  to  this  child,  as  it  were,  with  the  very  life-strings  of  both. 
Not  his  mother  was  more  gentle  with  Hugh  than  his  much  sterner 
father.  And  now  little  Fleda,  sharing  somewhat  of  Hugh's  peculiar 
claims  upon  their  tenderness  and  adding  another  of  her  own,  was 
admitted,  not  to  the  same  place  in  their  hearts, — that  could  not  be, 
— but  to  their  honor  be  it  spoken,  to  the  same  place  in  all  outward 
show  of  thought  and  feeling.  Hugh  had  nothing  that  Fleda  did 
not  have,  even  to  the  time,  care  and  caresses  of  his  parents.  And 
not  Hugh  rendered  them  a  more  faithful  return  of  devoted  affec 
tion. 

Once  made  easy  on  the  question  of  school,  which  was  never  seri 
ously  stirred  again,  Fleda's  life  became  very  happy.  It  was  easy 
to  make  her  happy  ;  affection  and  sympathy  would  have  done 
it  almost  anywhere  ;  but  in  Paris  she  had  much  more  ;  and 
after  time  had  softened  the  sorrow  she  brought  with  her,  no 
bird  ever  found  existence  less  of  a  burden,  nor  sang  more  light- 
heartedly  along  its  life.  In  her  aunt  she  had  all  but  the  name  of  a 
mother  ;  in  her  uncle,  with  kindness  and  affection,  she  had  amuse 
snent,  interest,  and  improvement  ;  In  Hugh  everything  ; — love 
confidence,  sympathy,  society,  help  ;  their  tastes,  opinions,  pursuits, 
went  hand  in  hand.  The  two  children  were  always  together. 
.Fleda's  spirits  were  brighter  than  Hugh's,  and  her  intellectual  tastes 
stronger  and  more  universal.  That  might  be  as  much  from  differ 
ence  of  physical  as  of  mental  constitution.  Hugh's  temperament 
led  him  somewhat  to  melancholy,  and  to  those  studies  and  pleasures 
which  best  side  with  subdued  feeling  and  delicate  nerves.  Fleda's 
nervous  system  was  of  the  finest  too,  but — in  short,  she  was  as  like 
a  bird  as  possible.  Perfect  health,  which  yet  a  slight  thing  was 
enough  to  shake  to  the  foundation  ; — joyous  spirits,  which  a  look 
could  quell  ; — happy  energies,  which  a  harsh  hand  might  easily 
crush  for  ever.  Well  for  little  Fleda  that  so  tender  a  plant  was 
permitted  to  unfold  in  so  nicely  tempered  an  atmosphere.  A  cold 
Wind  would  9«on  have  killed  it.  Besides  all  this  there  were  ckarm* 


198  QUEECHY. 

ing  studies  to  be  gone  through  every  day  with  Hugh ;  some  far  aunt 

Lucy  to  hear,  some  for  masters  and  mistresses.  There  were  araus* 
ing  walks  in  the  Boulevards,  and  delicious  pleasure-taking  in  the 
gardens  of  Paris,  and  a  new  world  of  people  and  manners  and 
things  and  histories  for  the  little  American.  And  despite  her  early 
rustic  experience  Fleda  had  from  nature  an  indefeasible  taste  for 
the  elegancies  of  life  ;  it  suited  her  well  to  see  all  about  her,  in  dress, 
in  furniture,  in  various  appliances,  as  commodious  and  tasteful  as 
wealth  and  refinement  could  contrive  it  ;  and  she  very  soon  knewr 
what  was  right  in  each  kind.  There  were  now  and  then  most  glee» 
Vttl  excursions  in  the  environs  of  Paris,  when  she  and  Hugh  found  in 
»arth  and  air  a  world  of  delights  more  than  they  could  tell  anybody 
but €ach  other.  And  at  home,  what  peaceful  times  they  two  had,— . 
whav  endless  conversations,  discussions,  scl.emes,  air-journeys  of 
memory  and  fancy,  backward  and  forward  ;  what  sociable  dinners 
alone,  and  delightful  evenings  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rossitur  in  the 
saloon  wWn  jiobody  or  only  a  very  few  people  were  there  ;  how  pleat* 
antly  in  those  evenings  the  foundations  were  laid  of  a  strong  and  en 
during  love  for  the  works  of  art,  painted,  sculptured,  or  engraven  ; 
what  a  vnultitude  of  curious  and  excellent  bits  of  knowledge  Fleda's 
ears  picked  up  from  the  talk  of  different  people.  They  were  capital 
ears  ;  what  they  caught  they  never  let  fall.  In  the  course  of  the  year 
her  gleamings  amounted  to  more  than  many  another  person's  har« 
vest. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Heav'n  bless  thee ; 
"fi*^a  K*st  the  sweetest  face  I  ever  look'd  on. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

ONE  «f  the  greatest  of  Fleda's  pleasures  was  when  Mr.  Carleton 
came  to  take  her  outf  with  him.  He  did  that  often.  Fleda  only 
wished  he  would  nave  taken  Hugh  too,  but  somehow  he  never 
did.  Nothing  but  that  was  wanting  to  make  the  pleasure  of  those 
times  perfect.  Knowing  that  she  saw  the  common  things  in  other 
company,  Guy  was  at  the  pains  to  vary  the  amusement  when  she 
went  with  him.  Instead  of  going  to  Versailles  or  St.  Cloud,  he 
would  take  her  long  delightful  drives  into  the  country  and  show  her 
some  old  or  interesting  p.\ace  that  nobody  else  w«nt  to  see.  Often 
Jiere  was  a  history  belonging  to  the  spot,  which  Fleda  listened  to 
with  the  delight  of  eye  and  fancy  at  once.  In  the  city,  where  they 
more  frequently  walked,  still  he  showed  her  what  she  would  per 
haps  have  seen  under  no  other  guidance.  He  made  it  his  business 
to  give  her  pleasure  ;  and  understanding  the  inquisitive  active  little 
spirit  he  had  to  do  with  he  went  where  his  own  tastes  would  hardly 
have  led  him.  The  Quai  aux  Fleurs  was  often  visited,  but  also  the 
Halle  aux  Bles,  the  great  Halle  aux  Vins,  the  Jardin  des  Plantes, 
and  the  Marc  he  des  Innocens.  Guy  even  took  the  trouble,  more 
for  her  sake  than  his  own,  to  go  to  the  latter  place  once  very  early 
\r\  the  morning,  when  the  market  bell  had  not  two  hours  sounded, 
while  the  interest  and  prettiness  of  the  scene  were  yet  in  their  full 
$8e.  Hugh  was  in  company  this  time,  and  the  delight  ©f  both  cJaH« 


QUEECHT.  128 

iren  was  beyond  words,  as  it  would  have  been  beyond  anybody's 
patience  that  had  not  a  strong  motive  to  back  it.  They  never  dis 
covered  that  Mr.  Carleton  was  in  a  hurry,  as  indeed  he  was  not. 
They  bargained  for  fruit  with  any  number  of  people,  upon  all  sorts  of 
inducements,  and  to  an  extent  of  which  they  had  no  competent  notion, 
but  Hugh  had  his  mother's  purse,  and  Fleda  was  skilfully  commis 
sioned  to  purchase  what  she  pleased  for  Mrs.  Carleton.  Verily  the 
two  children  that  morning  bought  pleasure,  not  peaches.  Fancy 
and  Benevolence  held  the  purse  strings,  and  Economy  did  not  even 
look  on.  They  revelled  too,  Fleda  especially,  amidst  the  bright 
pictures  of  the  odd,  the  new,  and  the  picturesque,  and  the  varieties 
of  character  and  incident,  that  were  displayed  around  them  ;  even 
till  the  country  people  began  to  go  away  and  the  scene  to  lose  its 
charm.  It  never  lost  it  in  memory  ;  and  many  a  time  in  after  life 
Hugh  and  Fleda  recurred  to  something  that  was  seen  or  done  "that 
morning  when  we  bought  fruit  at  the  Innocens. " 

Besides  these  scenes  of  everyday  life,  which  interested  and 
amused  Fleda  to  the  last  degree,  Mr.  Carleton  showed  her  many  an 
obscure  part  of  Paris  where  deeds  of  daring  and  of  blood  had  been, 
and  thrilled  the  little  listener's  ear  with  histories  of  the  Past.  He 
judged  her  rightly.  She  would  rather  at  any  time  have  gone  to 
walk  with  him,  than  with  anybody  else  to  see  any  show  that  co::ld 
be  devised.  His  object  in  all  this  was  in  the  first  place  to  give  her 
pleasure,  and  in  the  second  place  to  draw  out  her  mind  into  free 
communion  with  his  own,  which  he  knew  could  only  be  done  by 
talking  sense  to  her.  He  succeeded  as  he  wished.  Lost  in  the 
interest  of  the  scenes  he  presented  to  her  eye  and  mind,  she  forgot 
everything  else  and  showed  him  herself ;  precisely  what  he  wanted 
to  see. 

It  was  strange  that  a  young  man,  an  admired  man  of  fashion,  a 
flattered  favorite  of  the  gay  and  great  world,  and  furthermore  a  re 
served  and  proud  repeller  of  almost  all  who  sought  his  intimacy, 
should  seek  and  delight  in  the  society  of  a  little  child.  His  mother 
would  have  wondered  if  she  had  known  it.  Mrs.  Rossitur  did  mar 
vel  that  even  Fleda  should  have  so  won  upon  the  cold  and  haughty 
young  Englishmen  ;  and  her  husband  said  he  probably  chose  to 
have  Fleda  with  him  because  he  could  make  up  his  mind  to  like 
nobody  else.  A  remark  which  perhaps  arose  from  the  utter  failure 
of  every  attempt  to  draw  him  and  CharUon  nearer  together.  But 
V!r.  Rossitur  was  only  half  right.  The  reason  lay  deeper. 

Mr.  Carleton  had  admitted  the  truth  of  Christianity,  upon  what 
oe  considered  sufficient  grounds,  and  would  now  have  steadilv 
fought  for  it,  as  he  would  for  anything  else  that  he  believed  to  be 
truth.  But  there  he  stopped.  He  had  not  discovered  nor  tried  to 
discover  whether  the  truth  of  Christianity  imposed  any  obligation 
upon  him.  He  had  cast  off  his  unbelief,  and  looked  upon  it  now  as 
a  singular  folly.  But  his  belief  was  almost  as  vague  and  as  fruitless 
as  his  infidelity  had  been.  Perhaps,  a  little,  his  bitter  dissatisfaction 
with  the  world  and  human  things,  or  rather  his  despondent  view  of 
them,  was  mitigated.  If  there  was,  as  he  now  held,  a  Supreme 
Orderer  of  events,  it  might  be,  and  it  was  rational  to  suppose  there 
would  be,  in  the  issues  of  time,  an  entire  change  wrought  in  the 
disordered  and  dishonored  state  of  his  handiwork.  There  might 


*30  QUEECHT. 

be  a  remedial  system  somewhere, — nay,  it  might  be  in  the  Bible; 
he  meant  to  look  some  day.  But  that  he  had  anything  to  do  with 
that  change — that  the  workings  of  the  remedial  system  called  for 
hands — that  his  had  any  charge  in  the  matter — had  never  entered 
into  his  imagination  or  stirred  his  conscience.  He  was  living  his 
old  life  at  Paris,  with  his  old  dissatisfaction,  perhaps  a  trifle  less  bit 
ten  He  was  seeking  pleasuie  in  v/hatever  art,  learning,  literature, 
refinement  and  luxury  can  do  for  a  man  who  has  them  all  at  com 
mand  ;  but  there  was  something  within  him  that  spurned  this 
ignoble  existence  and  called  for  higher  aims  and  worthier  exertion. 
He  was  not  vicious,  he  never  had  been  vicious,  or,  as  somebody 
else  said,  his  vices  were  all  refined  vices  ;  but  a  life  of  mere  self-in 
dulgence  although  pursued  without  self-satisfaction,  is  constantly 
lowering  the  standard  and  weakening  the  forces  of  virtue," — lessen 
ing  the  whole  man.  He  felt  it  so  ;  and  to  leave  his  ordinary  scenes 
and  occupations  and  lose  a  morning  with  little  Fleda  was  a  fresh 
ening  of  his  better  nature  ;  it  was  like  breathing  pure  air  after  the 
fever-heat  of  a  sick  room  ;  it  was  like  hearing  the  birds  sing  after 
the  meaningless  jabber  of  Bedlam.  Mr.  Carleton  indeed  did  not 
put  the  matter  quite  so  strongly  to  himself.  He  called  Fleda  his 
good  angel.  He  did  not  exactly  know  that  the  office  this  good 
angel  performed  was  simply  to  hold  a  candle  to  his  conscience.  For 
conscience  was  not  by  any  means  dead  in  him  ;  it  only  wanted  light 
to  see  by.  When  he  turned  from  the  gay  and  corrupt  world  in 
which  he  lived,  where  the  changes  were  rung  incessantly  upon  self- 
interest,  falsehood,  pride,  and  the  various  more  or  lessrefined  forms 
of  sensuality,  and  when  he  looked  upon  that  pure  bright  little  face, 
so  free  from  selfishness,  those  clear  eyes  so  innocent  of  evil,  the 
peaceful  brow  under  which  a  thought  of  double-dealing  had  never 
hid,  Mr.  Carleton  felt  himself  in  a  healthier  region.  Here  as  else 
where,  he  honored  aud  loved  the  image  of  truth  ;  in  the  broad  sense 
of  truth  ; — that  which  suits  the  perfect  standard  of  right.  But  his 
pleasure  in  this  case  was  invariably  mixed  with  a  slight  reeling  of 
self-reproach  ;  and  it  was  this  hardly  recognized  stir  of  his  better 
nature,  this  clearing  of  his  mental  eyesight  under  the  light  of  a 
bright  example,  that  made  him  call  the  li  tie  torch-bearer  his  good 
angel.  If  this  were  truth,  this  purity,  uprightness  and  singleness  of 
snind,  as  conscience  said  it  was,  where  was  he  ?  how  far  wandering 
from  his  beloved  Idol ! 

One  o*iier  feeling  saddened  the  pleasure  he  had  in  her  society— a 
belief  tl.d.t  the  ground  of  it  could  not  la.ct.  "  If  she  could  grow  up 
so!"— he  said  to  himself.  "But  it  is  impossible.  A  very  few 
years,  and  all  that  clear  sunshine  of  tht  mmd  will  be  overcast  ; — 
there  is  not  a  cloud  now  !  " — 

Under  the  working  of  these  thoughts  Mr.  Carleton  sometimes  for 
got  to  talk  to  his  little  charge,  and  would  walk  for  a  length  of  way 
by  her  side  wrapped  up  in  sombre  musings.  Fleda  never  disturbed 
him  then,  but  waited  contentedly  and  patiently  for  him  to  come  out 
of  them,  with  her  old  feeling  wondering  what  he  could  be  thinking 
of  and  wishing  he  were  as  happy  as  she.  But  he  never  left  her  very 
long  ;  he  was  sure-  to  waive  his  own  humor  and  give  her  all  the 
graceful  kind  attention  which  nobody  else  could  bestow  so  well 
Nobody  understood  and  appreciated  it  better  than  Fleda. 


QUEECHY.  131 

One  day,  some  months  after  they  had  been  in  Paris,  they  were  sit 
ing  in  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  Mr.  Carleton  was  in  one  of  these 
thinking  fits.  He  had  been  giving  Fleda  a  long  detail  of  the  scenes 
that  had  taken  place  in  that  spot  —  a  history  of  it  from  the  time  when 
it  had  lain  an  unsightly  waste  ;  —  such  a  graphic  lively  account  as  he 
knew  well  how  to  give.  The  absorbed  interest  with  which  she  had 
lost  everything  else  in  what  he  was  saying  had  given  him  at  once 
reward  and  motive  enough  as  he  went  on.  Standing  by  his  side8 
with  one  little  hand  confidingly  resting  on  his  knee,  she  gazed  al 
ternately  into  his  face  and  toward  the  broad  highly  -adorned  square 
by  the  side  of  which  they  had  placed  themselves,  and  where  it 
svas  hard  to  realize  that  the  ground  had  once  been  soaked  in  blood 
while  madness  and  death  rilled  the  air  ;  and  her  changing  face  like 
a  mirror  gave  him  back  the  reflection  of  the  times  he  held  up  to  her 
view.  And  still  standing  there  in  the  same  attitude  after  he  had 
done  she  had  been  looking  out  toward  the  square  in  a  fit  of  deep 
meditation.  Mr.  Carleton  had  forgotten  her  for  awhile  in  his  own 
thoughts,  and  then  the  sight  of  the  little  gloved  hand  upon  his  knee 
brought  him  back  again. 

"What  are  you  musing  about,  Elfie,  dear?"  he  said,  cheerfully, 
taking  the  hand  in  one  of  his. 

Fleda  gave  a  swift  glance  into  his  face,  as  if  to  see  whether  it 
would  be  safe  for  her  to  answer  his  question  ;  a  kind  of  exploring 
look,  in  which  her  eyes  often  acted  as  scouts  for  her  tongue. 
Those  she  met  pledged  their  faith  for  her  security  ;  yet  Fleda'  s 
look  went  back  to  the  square  and  then  again  to  his  face  in  silence. 
*'"  How  do  you  like  living  in  Paris  ?  "  said  he.  "  You  should  know 
by  this  time." 

"  I  like  it  very  much  indeed,"  said  Fleda. 

"  I  thought  you  would." 

"  I  like  Queechy  better  though,"  she  went  on  gravely,  her  eyes 
turning  again  to  the  square. 

"  Like  Queechy  better  !  We*e  you  thinking  of  Queechy  just  now 
when  I  spoke  to  you  ?  " 

'  Oh  no  !  "  —  with  a  smile. 

*  Were  you  going  over  all  those  horrors  I  have  been  distressing 
you  with?  " 

"  No,"  said  Fleda  ;  —  "  I  was  thinking  of  them,  awhile  ago." 

"What  then  ?  "  sait1  he  pleasantly.  "You  were  looking  so 
•?ber  I  should  like  to  know  how  near  your  thoughts  were  to 


"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Fleda  gravely,  and  a  little  unwillingly,  but 
Guy  s  manner  was  not  to  be  withstood,  —  "  I  was  wishing  I  could  be 
like  the  disciple  whom  Jesus  loved," 

Mr.  Carleton  let  her  see  none  of  the  surprise  he  felt  at  this  an 
swer. 

"  Was  there  one  more  loved  than  the  rest  ?  " 

"Yes  —  the  Bible  calls  him  'the  disciple  whom  Jesus  loved." 
That  was  John." 

"  Why  was  he  preferred  above  the  others  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  he  was  more  gentle  and  good  than  the 
others,  and  loved  Jesus  more.  I  think  Aunt  Miriam  said  so  when  \ 
ftsked  her  once 


13fc  QUEECHY. 

Mr.  CaHeton  thought  Fleda  had  not  far  to  seek  for  the  fulfilment 
of  he*"  wish. 

"  But  how  in  the  world,  Elfie.  did  you  work  round  to  thia 
gentle  and  good  disciple  from  those  scenes  of  blood  you  set  out 
with?" 

"  Why,"  said  Elfie, — "  I  was  thinking  how  unhappy  and  bad  peo 
ple  are,  especially  people  here,  I  think  ;  and  how  much  must  be 
done  before  they  will  all  be  brought  right ; — and  then  I  was  think 
ing  of  the  work  Jesus  gave  his  disciples  to  do  ;  and  so  I  wished  I 
could  be  like  that  disciple. — Hugh  and  I  were  talking  about  it  this 
morning." 

."What  is  the  work  he  ga*e  them  to  do?"  said  Mr.  Carleton, 
mote  and  more  interested. 

"Why,"  said  Fleda,  lifting  her  gentle  wistful  eyes  to  his 
and  then  looking  away, — "  to  bring  everybody  to  be  good  and 
happy." 

"  And  how  in  the  world  are  they  to  do  that?"  said  Mr.  Carle- 
ton,  astonished  to  see  his  own  problem  quietly  handled  by  this 
child. 

"  By  telling  them  about  Jesus  Christ,  and  getting  them  to  believe 
and  love  him,"  said  Fleda,  glancing  at  him  again, — "  and  living  so 
beautifully  that  people  cannot  help  believing  them." 

"  That  last  is  an  important  clause,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  thought 
fully.  "  But  suppose  people  will  not  hear  when  they  are  spoken  to, 
Elfie  ?" 

"Some  will  at  any  rate,"  said  Fleda, — "  and  by  and  by  every^ 
body  will." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?" 

"  Because  the  Bible  says  so.'* 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that,  Elfie  ?  " 

"  Why  yes,  Mr.  Carleton — God  has  promised  that  the  world  shall 
be  full  of  good  people,  and  then  they  will  be  all  happy.  I  wish  it 
was  now/' 

"  But  if  that  be  so,  Elfie,  God  can  make  them  all  good  without 
•ur  help?" 

"  Yes,  but  I  suppose  he  chooses  to  do  it  with  our  help,  Mr.  Carle- 
ton,"  said^leda  with  equal  naivete  and  gravity. 

"  But  is  not  this  you  speak  of,"  said  he  half  smiling; — "  rathec 
the  business  of  clergymen  ?  you  have  nothing  to  do  with  it  ?" 

«•  No,"  said  Fleda, — "everybody  has  something  to  do  with  it; 
the  Bible  says  so  ;  ministers  must  do  it  in  their  way  and  other  people 
in  other  ways  ;  everybody  has  his  own  work.     Don't  you  remember 
the  parable  of  the  ten  talents,  Mr.  Carleton  ?  " 
Mr.  Carleton  was  silent  for  a  minute. 

"  I  do  not  know  the  Bible  quite  as  well  as  you  do,  Elfie,"  he 
said  then, — "  nor  as  I  ought  to  do." 

Elfie's  only  answer  was  by  a  look  somewhat  like  that  he  well  re 
membered  on  shipboard  he  had  thought  was  angel-like, — a  look  of 
gentle  sorrowful  vvistfulness  which  she  did  not  venture  to  put  into 
words.  It  had  not  for  that  the  less  power.  But  he  did  not  choose 
to  prolong  the  conversation.  They  rose  up  and  began  to  walk 
homeward,  Elfie  thinking  with  all  the  warmth  of  her  little  heart  that 
sfte  wished  very  much  Mr.  Carleton  knew  the  Bible  better ;  divided 


QUEEChY.  131 

between  him  and  "  that  discipie  "  whom  she  and  Hugfe  had  been 

talking  about. 

"I  suppose  you  are  very  busy  now,  Elfie,"  observed  her  com 
panion,  when  they  had  walked  the  length  of  several  squares  in 
silence. 

"  O  yes !  "  said  Fleda.  "  Hugh  and  1  are  as  busy  as  we  can  be. 
We  are  busy  every  minute." 

"  Except  when  you  are  on  some  chase  after  pleasure  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Fleda  laughing, — "  that  is  a  kind  of  business  ;  »nd 
all  the  business  is  pleasure  too.  I  didn't  mean  that  we  were  always 
busy  about  work.  O  Mr.  Carleton  we  had  such  a  nice  time  the  day 
before  yesterday  !  " — And  she  went  on  to  give  him  the  history  of  a 
very  successful  chase  after  pleasure  which  they  had  made  to  St. 
Cloud, 

"  And  yet  you  like  Queechy  better?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Fleda,  with  a  gentle  steadiness  peculiar  to  herself, 
—"if  I  had  aunt  Lucy  and  Hugh  and  uncle  Rolf  there  and  every 
body  that  I  care  for,  I  should  like  it  a  great  deal  better." 

"  Unspotted  "  yet,  he  thought. 

"Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Fleda  presently, — "  do  you  play  and  sing 
every  day  here  in  Paris  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  he  smiling, — "  about  every  day.     Why  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  how  pleasant  it  was  at  your  house,  in  En 
gland." 

"  Has  Carleton  the  honor  of  rivalling  Queechy  in  your  lik 
ing?" 

"  I  haven't  lived  there  so  long,  you  know,"  said  Fleda.  "  I 
dare  say  it  would  if  I  had.  I  think  it  is  quite  as  pretty  a  place." 

Mr.  Carleton  smiled  with  a  very  pleased  expression.  Truth  and 
politeness  had  joined  hands  in  her  answer  with  a  child's  grace. 

He  brought  Fleda  to  her  own  door  and  there  was  leaving  her. 

"Stop! — O  Mr.  Carleton,"  cried  Fleda,  "come  in  just  for  one 
minute — I  want  to  show  you  something." 

He  made  no  resistance  to  that.  She  led  him  to  the  saloon,  where 
it  happened  that  nobody  was,  and  repeating  "One  minute!" — 
rushed  out  of  the  room.  In  less  than  that  time  she  came  running 
back  with  a  beautiful  half-blown  bud  of  a  monthly  rose  in  her 
hand,  and  in  her  face  such  a  bloom  of  pleasure  and  eagerness  as 
more  than  rivalled  it.  The  rose  was  fairly  eclipsed.  She  put  the 
bud  quietly  but  with  a  most  satisfied  air  of  affection  into  Mr.  Carle- 
ton's  hand.  It  had  come  from  a  little  tree  which  he  had  given  her 
on  one  of  their  first  visits  to  the  Quai  aux  Fleurs.  She  had  had  the 
choice  of  what  she  liked  best,  and  had  characteristically  taken  a 
flourishing  little  rosebush  that  as  yet  showed  nothing  but  leaves  and 
green  buds  ;  partly  because  she  would  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
its  beauties  come  forward,  and  partly  because  she  thought  having 
no  flowers  it  would  not  cost  much.  The  former  reason  however 
was  all  that  she  had  given  to  Mr.  Cadeton's  remonstrances. 

"  What  is  all  this,  Elfie?"  said  he.  "  Have  you  been  robbing 
your  rose-tree?" 

"No,"  said  Elfie; — "there  are  plenty  more  buds!  Isn't  it 
lovely  ?  This  is  the  first  one.  They've  been  a  great  while  com 
ing  out." 


134  QUEELSfY. 

His  eye  went  from  the  rose  to  her  ;  he  thought  ttie  one  was  a 
mere  emblem  of  the  other.  Fleda  was  usually  very  quiet  in  he* 
demonstrations  ;  it  was  as  if  a  little  green  bud  had  suddenly  burst 
into  a  flush  of  loveliness  ;  and  he  saw,  it  was  as  plain  as  possible, 
that  good-will  to  him  had  been  the  moving  power.  He  was  so  much 
struck  and  moved  that  his  thanks,  though  as  usual  perfect  in  their 
kind,  were  far  shorter  and  graver  than  he  would  have  given  if  he 
had  felt  less.  He  turned  away  from  the  house,  his  mind  full  of  the 
bright  unsullied  purity  and  single-hearted  good-will  that  had  looked 
sut  of  that  beaming  little  face  ;  he  seemed  to  see  them  again  in 
he  flower  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  he  saw  nothing  else  as  he  went. 

Mr.  Carleton  preached  to  himself  all  the  way  home,  and  his  text 
•vas  a  rose. 

Laugh  who  will.  To  many  it  may  seem  ridiculous  ;  and  to  most 
minds  it  would  have  been  impossible  ;  but  to  a  nature  very  finely 
wrought  and  highly  trained,  many  a  voice  that  grosser  senses  can 
not  hear  comes  with  an  utterance  as  clear  as  it  is  sweet-spoken  ; 
many  a  touch  that  coarser  nerves  cannot  heed  reaches  the  springs 
of  the  deeper  life  ;  many  a  truth  that  duller  eyes  have  no  skill  to 
see  shows  its  fair  features,  hid  away  among  the  petals  of  a  rose,  or 
peering  out  between  the  wings  of  a  butterfly,  or  reflected  in  a  bright 
drop  of  dew.  The  material  is  but  a  veil  for  the  spiritual ;  but  then 
eyes  must  be  quickened,  or  the  veil  becomes  an  impassable  cloud. 

That  particular  rose  was  to  Mr.  Carleton's  eye  a  most  perfect  em 
blem  and  representative  of  its  little  giver.  He  traced  out  the  points 
of  resemblance  as  he  went  along.  The  delicacy  and  character  of 
refinement  for  which  that  kind  of  rose  is  remarkable  above  many 
of  its  more  superb  kindred  ;  a  refinement  essential  and  unalterable 
by  decay  or  otherwise,  as  true  a  characteristic  of  the  child  as  of  the 
flower  ;  a  delicacy  that  called  for  gentle  handling  and  tender 
cherishing; — the  sweetness,  rare  indeed,  but  asserting  itself  as  it 
were  timidly,  at  least  with  equally  rare  modesty  ; — the  very  style  of 
the  beauty,  that  with  all  its  loveliness  would  not  startle  nor  even 
catch  the  eye  among  its  more  showy  neighbors  ; — and  the  breath  of 
purity  that  seemed  to  own  no  kindred  with  earth,  nor  liability  to  in^ 
lection. 

As  he  went  on  with  his  musing,  and  drawing  out  this  fair  char 
acter  from  the  type  before  him,  the  feeling  of  contrast,  that  he  had 
known  before,  pressed  upon  Mr.  Carleton's  mind  ;  the  feeling  of 
self  reproach,  and  the  bitter  wish  that  he  could  be  again  what  he 
once  had  been,  something  like  this.  How  changed  now  he  seemed 
to  himself — not  a  point  of  likeness  left.  How  much  less  honorable, 
how  much  less  worth,  how  much  less  dignified,  than  that  fair  inno 
cent  child.  How  much  better  a  part  she  was  acting  in  life — what 
an  influence  she  was  exerting, — as  pure,  as  sweet-breathed,  and  as 
unobtrusive,  as  the  very  rose  in  his  hand.  And  he — doing  no  good 
to  an  earthly  creature  and  losing  himself  by  inches. 

He  reached  his  room,  put  the  flower  in  a  glass  on  the  table,  and 
walked  up  and  down  before  it.  It  had  come  to  a  struggle  between 
the  sense  of  what  was  and  the  passionate  wish  for  what  might  have 
been. 

"It  is  late,  sir,"  said  his  servant  opening  the  door,— "and  yo« 
were — " 


QUEECHT.  1» 

MI  am  not  going  out." 

•«  This  evening,  sir  ?  " 

««  No — not  at  all  to-day.  Spenser  ! — I  don't  wish  to  see  anybody 
—let  no  o.ie  come  near  me." 

The  servant  retired  and  Guy  went  on  with  his  walk  and  hie 
meditations  ;  looking  back  over  his  life  and  reviewing,  with  a  wiser 
ken  now,  the  steps  by  which  he  had  come.  He  compared  the  self 
ish  disgust  with  which  he  had  cast  off  the  world  with  the  very  dif 
ferent  spirit  of  little  Fleda's  look  upon  it  that  morning  ;  the  useless, 
self-pleasing,  vain  life  he  was  leading,  with  her  wish  to  be  like  the 
beloved  disciple  and  do  something  to  heal  the  troubles  of  those  less 
happy  than  herself.  He  did  not  very  well  comprehend  the  ground? 
of  her  feeling  or  reasoning,  but  he  began  to  see,  mistily,  that  his 
own  had  been  mistaken  and  wild. 

His  step  grew  slower,  his  eye  more  intent,  his  brow  quiet. 

"  She  is  right  and  I  am  wrong,"  he  thought.  "  She  is  by  far  the 
nobler  creature — worth  many  such  as  I.  Like  her  I  cannot  be — I 
cannot  regain  what  I  have  lost, — I  cannot  undo  what  years  have 
done.  But  I  can  be  something  other  than  I  am !  If  there  be  a 
system  of  remedy,  as  there  well  may,  it  may  as  well  take  effect  on 
myself  first.  She  says  everybody  has  his  work  ;  I  believe  her.  It 
must  in  the  nature  of  things  be  so.  I  will  make  it  my  business  to 
find  out  what  mine  is  ;  and  when  I  have  made  that  sure  I  will  give 
myself  to  the  doing  of  it.  An  Allwise  Governor  must  look  for 
service  of  me,,  He  shall  have  it.  Whatever  my  life  be  it  shall  be 
to  some  end.  If  not  what  I  would,  what  I  can.  If  not  the  purity 
of  the  rose,  that  of  tempered  steel !  " 

Mr.  Carleton  walked  his  room  for  three  hours  ;  then  rung  for  his 
servant  and  ordered  him  to  prepare  everything  for  leaving  Paris  the 
second  day  thereafter. 

The  next  morning  over  their  coffee  he  told  his  mother  of  his  pur 
pose. 

"Leave  Paris !— To-morrow ! — My  dear  Guy,  that  is  rather  a 
sudden  notice." 

"  No  mother — for  I  am  going  alone." 

His  mother  immediately  bent  an  anxious  and  somewhat  terrified 
look  upon  him.  The  frank  smile  she  met  put  half  her  suspicions 
out  of  her  head  at  once. 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

•  Nothing  at  all — if  by  •  matter*  you  mean  mischief.'* 
'You  are  not  in  difficulty  with  those  young  men  again?" 

•  No  mother,"  said  he  coolly.     "  I  am  in  difficulty  with  no  on« 
*<Mit  myself." 

•  With  yourself!     But  why  will  you  not  let  me  go  with  you?*' 
'  My  business  will  go  on  better  if  I  am  quite  alone." 

•What  business?" 

•Only  to  settle  this  question  with  myself,"  said  he  smiling. 

1  But  Guy  !  you  are  enigmatical  this  morning.  Is  it  the  question 
that  of  all  others  I  wish  to  see  settled?" 

"  No  mother,"  said  he  laughing  and  coloring  a  little, — '•"  I  donv 
want  another  half  to  take  care  of  till  I  have  this  one  under  manasra 
mem," 


186  QUEECHY. 

"I  den'i  understand  you,"  said  Mrs.  Carleton.  "There  is  B0 
bidden  reason  under  all  this  that  you  are  keeping  from  me?  " 

"  I  won't  say  that.  But  there  is  none  that  need  give  you  the 
feast  uneasiness.  There  are  one  or  two  matters  I  want  to  study 
out — I  cannot  do  it  here,  so  I  am  going  where  I  shall  be  free." 

••  Where  ? " 

"  I  think  I  shall  pass  the  summer  between  Switzerland  and  Ger 
many." 

"And  when  and  where  shall  I  meet  you  again?" 

"'  I  think  at  home  ; — I  cannot  say  when." 

"At  home!"  said  his  mother  with  a  brightening  face.  •  Then 
fou  are  beginning  to  be  tired  of  wandering  at  last  ? " 

"  Not  precisely,  mother, — rather  out  of  humor." 

"I  shall  be  glad  of  anything,"  said  his  mother,  gazing  at  him 
admiringly,  "that  brings  you  home  again,  Guy." 

"  Bring  me  home  a  better  man,  I  hope,  mother,"  said  he  kissing 
her  as  he  left  the  room.  "  I  will  see  you  again  by  and  by." 

"  '  A  better  man !  '  "  thought  Mrs.  Carleton,  as  she  sat  with  full 
eyes,  the  image  of  her  son  filling  the  place  where  his  presence  had 
been  ; — "  I  would  be  willing  never  to  see  him  better  and  be  sure  of 
his  never  being  worse  !  " 

Mr.  Carleton's  farewell  visit  found  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rossitur  not  at 
home.  They  had  driven  out  early  into  the  country  to  fetch  Marion 
from  her  convent  for  some  holiday.  Fleda  came  alone  into  the 
saloon  to  receive  him. 

"I  have  your  rose  in  safe  keeping,  Elfie,"  he  said.  "  It  has 
done  me  more  good  than  ever  a  rose  did  before." 

Fleda  smiled  an  innocently  pleased  smile.  But  her  look  changed 
when  he  added, 

"  I  have  come  to  tell  you  so  and  to  bid  you  good-bye." 

"  Are  you  going  away,  Mr.  Carleton  !  " 

"Yes." 

"  But  you  will  be  back  soon  ?  " 

"  No,  Elfie, — I  do  not  know  that  I  shall  ever  come  back." 

He  spoke  gravely,  more  gravely  than  he  was  used  ;  and  Fleda's 
acuteness  saw  that  there  was  some  solid  reason  forthis  sudden  de 
termination.  Her  face  changed  sadly,  but  she  was  silent,  her  eyes 
lever  wavering  from  those  that  read  hers  with  such  gentle  intelii* 
;ence. 

"  You  will  be  satisfied  to  have  me  go,  Elfie,  when  I  tell  you  that 
I  am  going  on  business  which  I  believe  to  be  duty.  Nothing  else 
takes  me  away.  I  am  going  to  try  to  do  right/'  said  he  smil 
ing. 

Elfie  could  not  answer  the  smile.  She  wanted  to  ask  whether 
she  should  never  see  him  again,  and  there  was  another  thought 
upon  her  tongue  too  ;  but  her  lip  trembled  and  she  said  noth« 
ing. 

"  I  shall  miss  my  good  fairy,"  Mr.  Carleton  went  on  lightly  ;— 
"  I  don't  know  how  I  shall  do  without  her.  If  your  wand  was  long 
enough  to  reach  so  far  I  would  ask  you  to  touch  me  now  and  then, 
Elfie." 

Poor  Elfie  could  not  stand  it.  Her  head  sank.  She  knew  she 
had  a  wand  that  could  touch  him,  and  well  and  gratefully  she  19* 


187 

solved  that  its  light  blessing  should  "now  and  then  "  rest  on  his 
head  ;  but  he  did  not  understand  that  ;  he  was  talking,  whether 
lightly  or  seriously,  and  Elfie  knew  it  was  a  little  of  both, — he  *vas 
talking  of  wanting  her  help,  and  was  ignorant  of  the  help  that 
alone  could  avail  him.  "Oh  that  he  knew  but  that!" — What 
with  this  feeling  and  sorrow  together  the  child's  distress  was  ex 
ceeding  great ;  and  the  tokens  of  grief  in  one  so  accustomed  to 
hide  them  were  the  more  painful  to  see.  Mr.  Carleton  drew  the 
sorrowing  little  creature  within  his  arm  and  endeavored  with  a  mix^ 
ture  of  kindness  and  lightness  in  his  tone  to  cheer  her. 

"I  shall  often  remember  you,  dear  Elfie,"  he  said  ; — "I  shal 
keep  your  rose  always  and  take  it  with  me  wherever  I  go. — You 
must  not  make  it  too  hard  for  me  to  quit  Paris — you  are  glad  to 
have  me  go  on  such  an  errand,  are  you  not?  " 

She  presently  commanded  herself,  bade  her  tears  wait  till  another 
time  as  usual,  and  trying  to  get  rid  of  those  that  covered  her  face, 
asked  him,  "  What  errand  ?" 

He  hesitated. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  what  we  were  talking  of  yesterday, 
Elfie,"  he  said  at  length.  "  I  am  going  to  try  to  discover  my  duty, 
and  then  to  do  it." 

But  Fleda  at  that  clasped  his  hand,  and  squeezing  it  in  both  hers 
bent  down  her  little  head  over  it  to  hide  her  face  and  the  tears  that 
streamed  again.  He  hardly  knew  how  to  understand  or  what  to 
say  to  her.  He  half  suspected  that  there  were  depths  in  that  child 
ish  mind  beyond  his  fathoming.  He  was  not  however  left  to  wait 
long.  Fleda,  though  shte  might  now  and  then  be  surprised  into 
showing  it,  never  allowed  her  sorrow  of  any  kind  to  press  upon  the 
notice  or  the  time  of  others.  She  again  checked  herself  and  dried 
her  face. 

"There  is  nobody  else  in  Paris  that  will  be  so  sorry  for  my  leav 
ing  it,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  half  tenderly  and  half  pleasantly. 

"  There  is  nobody  else  that  has  so  much  cause,"  said  Elfie,  near 
bursting  out  again,  but  she  restrained  herself. 

"And  you  will  not  come  here  again,  Mr.  Carleton?"  she  said 
after  a  few  minutes. 

"I  do  not  say  that— it  is  possible — if  I  do,  it  will  be  to  see  you, 
Elfie." 

A  shadow  of  a  smile  passed  over  her  face  at  that.  It  was  gone 
instantly. 

"My  mother  will  not  leave  Paris  yet,"  he  went  on, — "you  will 
see  her  often." 

But  he  saw  that  Fleda  was  thinking  of  something  else  ;  she  scarce 
seemed  to  hear  him.  She  was  thinking  of  something  that  troubled 
her. 

••  Mr.  Carleton — "  she  began,  and  her  color  changed. 

"Speak,  Elfie." 

Her  color  changed  again.  "  Mr.  Carleton — will  you  be  displeased 
if  I  say  something  ?  ' ' 

"Don't  you  know  me  better  than  to  ask  me  that,  Elfie?"  he 
said  gently. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  something,-— if  you  won't  mind  my  saying 


138  qUEECHY. 

"What  is  it?"  said  he,  reading  in  her  face  that  a  request  wa§ 
**ehind.  "  I  will  do  it." 

Her  eyes  sparkled,  but  she  seemed  to  have  some  difficulty  in 
f  Ding  on. 

"  I  will  do  it,  whatever  it  is,"  he  said  watching  her. 

"  Will  you  wait  for  me  one  moment,  Mr.  Carleton  ?" 

"  Half  an  hour." 

She  sprang  away,  her  face  absolutely  flashing  pleasure  through 
her  tears.  It  was  much  soberer,  and  again  doubtful  and  changing 
color,  when  a  few  minutes  afterward  she  came  back  with  a  book  in 
her  hand.  With  a  striking  mixture  of  timidity,  modesty,  and 
eagerness  in  her  countenance  she  came  forward,  and  putting  the 
little  volume,  which  was  her  own  bible,  into  Mr.  Carleton' s  hands 
said  under  her  breath,  "Please  read  it."  She  did  not  venture  to 
look  up. 

He  saw  what  the  book  was  ;  and  then  taking  the  gentle  hand 
which  had  given  it,  he  kissed  it  two  or  three  times.  If  it  had  been 
a  princess's  he  could  not  with  more  respect. 

"You  have  my  promise,  Elfie,"  he  said.  "I  need  not  repeat 
it?" 

She  raised  her  eyes  and  gave  him  a  look  so  grateful,  so  loving,  so 
happy,  that  it  dwelt  for  ever  in  his  remembrance.  A  moment  after 
it  had  faded,  and  she  stood  still  where  he  had  left  her,  listening  to 
his  footsteps  as  they  went  down  the  stairs.  She  heard  the  last  of 
them,  and  then  sank  upon  her  knees  by  a  chair  and  burst  into  a 
passion  of  tears.  Their  time  was  now  and  she  let  them  come.  It 
was  not  only  the  losing  a  loved  and  pleasant  friend,  it  was  not  only 
the  stirring  of  sudden  and  disagreeable  excitement  ; — poor  Elfie  was 
crying  for  her  bible.  It  had  been  her  father's  own — it  was  filled 
with  his  marks — it  was  precious  to  her  above  price — and  Elfie  cried 
with  all  her  heart  for  the  loss  of  it.  She  had  done  what  she  had 
on  the  spur  of  the  emergency — she  was  satisfied  she  had  done 
right ;  she  would  not  take  it  back  if  she  could  ;  but  not  the  less  her 
bible  was  gone,  and  the  pages  that  loved  eyes  had  looked  upon 
were  for  hers  to  look  upon  no  more.  Her  very  heart  was  wrung 
that  she  should  have  parted  with  it, — and  yet, — what  could  she  do  ? 
—It  was  as  bad  as  the  parting  with  Mr.  Carleton. 

That  agony  was  over,  and  even  that  was  shortened  for  "  Hugh 
would  find  out  that  she  had  been  crying."  Hours  had  passed,  and 
ihe  tears  were  dried,  and  the  little  face  was  bending  over  the  wonted 
tasks  with  a  shadow  upon  its  wonted  cheerfulness, — when  Rosaline 
came  to  tell  her  that  Victor  said  there  was  somebody  in  the  passage 
who  wanted  to  see  her  and  would  not  come  in. 

It  was  Mr.  Carleton  himself.  He  gave  her  a  parcel,  smiled  at 
her  without  saying  a  word,  kissed  her  hand  earnestly,  and  was  gone 
again.  Fleda  ran  to  her  own  room,  and  took  the  wrappers  off  such 
a  beauty  of  a  bible  as  she  had  never  seen  ;  bound  in  blue  velvet 
with  clasps  of  gold,  and  her  initials  in  letters  of  gold  upon  the  cover. 
Fleda  hardly  knew  whether  to  be  most  pleased  or  sorr.y  ;  for  to 
have  its  place  so  supplied  seemed  to  put  her  lost  treasure  further 
away  than  ever.  The  result  was  another  flood  of  very  tender  tears  ; 
in  the  very  shedding  of  which  however  the  new  little  bible  was 


QUEECHT.  199 

bound  to  her  heart  with  cords  of  association  as  bright  and  as  incor 
ruptible  as  its  gold  mountings. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Her  sports  were  such  as  carried  riches  of  knowledge  upon  the  stream  ot 
delight. — SisDNEY. 

FLEDA  had  not  been  a  year  in  Paris  when  her  uncle  suddenly 
made  up  his  mind  to  quit  it  and  go  home.  Some  trouble  in  monei 
affairs,  felt  or  feared,  brought  him  to  this  step,  which  a  month  be 
fore  he  had  no  definite  purpose  of  ever  taking.  There  was  cloudy 
weather  in  the  financial  world  of  New  York  and  he  wisely  judged 
it  best  that  his  own  eyes  should  be  on  the  spot  to  see  to  his  own  in 
terests.  Nobody  was  sorry  for  this  determination.  Mrs.  Rossitur 
always  liked  what  her  husband  liked,  but  she  had  at  the  same  time 
a  decided  predilection  for  home.  Marion  was  glad  to  leave  her 
convent  for  the  gay  world,  which  her  parents  promised  she  should 
immediately  enter.  And  Hugh  and  Fleda  had  too  lively  a  spring 
of  happiness  within  themselves  to  care  where  its  outgoings  should 
be. 

So  home  they  came,  in  good  mood,  bringing  with  them  all  man 
ner  of  Parisian  delights  that  Paris  could  part  with.  Furniture,  that 
at  home  at  least  they  might  forget  where  they  were  ;  dresses,  that 
at  home  or  abroad  nobody  might  forget  where  they  had  been  ;  pic 
tures  and  statuary  and  engravings  and  books,  to  satisfy  a  taste  really 
strong  and  well  cultivated.  And  indeed  the  other  items  were  quite 
as  much  for  this  purpose  as  for  any  other.  A  French  cook  for  Mr. 
Rossitur,  and  even  Rosaline  for  his  wife,  who  declared  she  was 
worth  all  the  rest  of  Paris.  Hugh  cared  little  for  any  of  these 
things  ;  he  brought  home  a  treasure  of  books  and  a  flute,  to  which 
he  was  devoted.  Fleda  cared  for  them  all,  even  Monsieur  Emile 
and  Rosaline,  for  her  uncle's  and  aunt's  sake  ;  but  her  special  joy 
was  a  beautiful  little  King  Charles  which  had  been  sent  her  by  Mr. 
Carleton  a  few  weeks  before.  It  came  with  the  kindest  of  letters, 
saying  that  some  matters  had  made  it  inexpedient  for  him  to  pass 
through  Paris  on  his  way  home  but  that  he  hoped  nevertheless  to 
see  her  soon.  That  intimation  was  the  only  thing  that  made  Fleda 
sorry  to  leave  Paris.  The  little  dog  was  a  beauty,  allowed  to  be  sc 
not  only  by  his  mistress  but  by  every  one  else ;  of  the  true  black 
and  tan  colors  ;  and  Fleda's  dearly  loved  and  constant  companion. 

The  life  she  and  Hugh  led  was  little  changed  by  the  change  of 
place.  They  went  out  and  came  in  as  they  had  done  in  Paris,  and 
took  the  same  quiet  but  intense  happiness  in  the  same  quiet  occu 
pations  and  pleasures  ;  only  the  Tuileries  and  Champs  Elysees  had 
a  miserable  substitute  in  the  Battery,  and  no  substitute  at  all  any 
where  else.  And  the  pleasant  drives  in  the  environs  of  Paris  were 
missed  too  and  had  nothing  in  New  York  to  supply  their  place. 
Mrs.  Rossitur  always  said  it  was  impossible  to  get  out'of  New  York 
by  land,  and  not  worth  the  trouble  to  do  it  by  water.  But  then  in 
the  house  Fleda  thought  there  was  a  great  gain.  The  dirty  P.iri-. •••;; .i 
Hotel  was  well  exchanged  for  the  bright  clean  well-appointed  house 
in  State  street.  And  if  Broadway  was  disagreeable,  and  the  Park 


140  QUEECHY. 

a  weariness  to  cnc  eyes,  after  the  dressed  gavdens  of  the  French 
capital,  Hugh  and  Fleda  made  it  up  in  the  delights  of  the  luxur 
iously  furnished  library  and  the  dear  at-home  feeling  of  having  the 
whole  house  their  own. 

They  were  left,  those  two  children,  quite  as  much  to  themselves 
as  ever.  Marion  was  going  into  company,  and  she  and  her  mother 
were  swallowed  up  in  the  consequent  necessary  calls  upon  their 
time.  Marion  never  had  been  anything  to  Fleda.  She  was  a  fine 
handsome  girl,  outwardly,  but  seemed  to  have  more  of  her  father 
than  her  mother  in  her  composition,  though  colder-natured  and 
jiore  wrapped  up  in  self  than  Mr.  Rossitur  would  be  called  by  any 
body  that  knew  him.  She  had  never  done  anything  to  draw  Fleda 
toward  her,  and  even  Hugh  had  very  little  of  her  attention.  They 
did  not  miss  it.  They  were  everything  to  each  other. 

Everything, — for  now  morning  and  night  there  was  a  sort  of 
whirlwind  in  the  house  which  carried  the  mother  and  daughter 
round  and  round  and  permitted  no  rest  ;  and  Mr.  Rossitur  himself 
was  drawn  in.  It  was  worse  than  it  had  been  in  Paris.  There,  with 
Marion  in  her  convent,  there  were  often  evenings  when  they  did  not 
go  abroad  nor  receive  company  and  spent  the  time  quietly  and  hap 
pily  in  each  other's  society.  No  such  evenings  now  ;  if  by  chance 
there  were  an  unoccupied  one  Mrs.  Rossitur  and  her  daughter  were 
sure  to  be  tired  and  Mr.  Rossitur  busy. 

Hugh  and  Fleda  in  those  bustling  times  retreated  to  the  library  ; 
Mr.  Rossitur  would  rarely  have  that  invaded  ;  and  while  the  net 
was  so  eagerly  cast  for  pleasure  among  the  gay  company  below, 
pleasure  had  often  slipped  away  and  hid  herself  among  the  things 
on  the  library  table,  and  was  dancing  on  every  page  of  Hugh's 
book  and  minding  each  stroke  of  Fleda' s  pencil  and  cocking  the 
spaniel's  ears  whenever  his  mistress  looked  at  him.  King,  the 
spaniel,  lay  on  a  silk  cushion  on  the  library  table,  his  nose  just 
touching  Fleda's  fingers.  Fleda's  drawing  was  mere  amusement ; 
she  and  Hugh  were  not  so  burthened  with  studies  that  they  had  not 
always  their  evenings  free,  and  to  tell  truth,  much  more  than  their 
evenings.  Masters  indeed  they  had  ;  but  the  heads  of  the  house 
were  busy  with  the  interests  of  their  grown-up  child,  and  perhaps 
.vith  other  interests  ;  and  took  it  for  granted  that  all  was  going  right 
yvith  the  young  ones. 

"  Haven't  we  a  great  deal  better  time  than  they  have  down 
stairs,  Fleda?"  said  Hugh  one  of  these  evenings. 

"  Hum — yes — "  answered  Fleda  abstractedly,  stroking  into  order 
some  old  man  in  her  drawing  with  great  intentness. — "King! — , 
you  rascal — keep  back  and  be  quiet,  sir !  — " 

Nothing  could  be  conceived  more  gentle  and  loving  than  Fleda's 
lone  of  fault-finding,  and  her  repulse  only  fell  short  of  a  caress. 

"  What's  he  doing  ?  " 

"  Wants  to  get  into  my  lap." 

"  Why  don't  you  let  him  !  " 

"  Because  I  don't  choose  to — a  silk  cushion  is  good  enough  for 
his  majesty.  K\ng  ! — "  (laying  her  soft  cheek  against  the  little 
dog's  soft  head  and  forsaking  her  drawing  for  the  purpose.) 

"  How  you  do  love  that  dog  J  "  taid  Hugh. 


QUEECHF.  141 

••  Very  well — why  shouldn't  I  ? — provided  he  steals  no  love  from 
raybody  else,"  said  Fleda,  still  caressing  him. 

"  What  a  noise  somebody  is  making  down  stairs  !  "  said  Hugh. 
"  I  don't  think  I  should  ever  want  to  go  to  large  parties,  Fleda, 
do  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Fleda,  whose  natural  taste  for  society  wa» 
strongly  developed  ; — "  it  would  depend  upon  what  kind  of  parties 
they  were." 

"  I  shouldn't  like  them,  I  know,  of  whatever  kind,"  said  Hugh 
<  What  are  you  smiling  at  ?  " 

"  Only  Mr.  Pickwick's  face,  that  I  am  drawing  here." 

Hugh  came  round  to  look  and  laugh,  and  then  began  again,, 

"  I  can't  think  of  anything  pleasanter  than  this  room  as  we  are 
now." 

"  You  should  have  seen  Mr.  Carleton's  library,"  said  Fleda  in  a 
musing  tone,  going  on  with  her  drawing. 

"  Was  it  so  much  better  than  this?  " 

Fleda' s  eyes  gave  a  slight  glance  at  the  room  and  then  looked 
down  again  with  a  little  shake  of  her  head  sufficiently  expres 
sive. 

"Well,"  said  Hugh,  "you  and  I  do  not  want  any  better  than 
this,  do  we,  Fleda?  " 

Fleda' s  smile,  a  most  satisfactory  one,  was  divided  between  hira 
and  King. 

"  I  don't  believe,"  said  Hugh,  "  you  would  have  loved  that  dog 
near  so  well  if  anybody  else  had  given  him  to  you." 

"I  don't  believe  I  should! — not  a  quarter,"  said  Fleda  with 
sufficient  distinctness. 

"  I  never  liked  that  Mr.  Carleton  as  well  as  you  did." 

"That  is  beause  you  did  not  know  him,"  said  Fleda  quietly. 

"  Do  you  think  he  was  a  good  man,  Fleda  ?  " 

"  He  was  very  good  to  me,"  said  Fleda,  "  always.  What  rides 
7  did  have  on  that  great  black  horse  of  his! 

"A  black  horse?  " 

"Yes,  a  great  black  horse,  strong,  but  so  gentle,  and  he  went  so 
delightfully.  His  name  was  Harold.  Oh  I  should  like  to  see  that 
horse  ! — When  I  wasn't  with  him,  Mr.  Carleton  used  to  ride  another, 
ihe  greatest  beauty  of  a  horse,  Hugh  ;  a  brown  Arabian — soslendet 
ind  delicate — her  name  was  Zephyr,  and  she  used  to  go  like  the 
vind  to  be  sure.  Mr.  Carleton  said  he  wouldn't  trust  me  on  such 
a  fly-away  thing." 

"  But  you  didn't  use  to  ride  alone  ? >f  said  Hugh. 

"Oh  no ! — and  /  wouldn't  have  been  afraid  if  he  had  chosen  t© 
take  me  on  any  one." 

"  But  do  you  think,  Fleda,  he  was  a  good  man  ?  as  I  mean  ?  " 

"  1  am  sure  he  was  better  than  a  great  many  others,"  answered 
Fleda  evasively  ; — "  the  worst  of  him  was  infinitely  better  than  the 
best  of  half  the  people  down  stairs, — Mr.  Sweden  included." 

"Sweden ! — you  don't  call  his  name  right." 

"  The  worse  it  is  called  the  better,  in  my  opinion,"  said  Fleda. 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  him ;    but  what  makes  you  dislike  him  so 
h?" 
I  don't  know — partly  because  Uncle  Rolf  aad  Marion  Kke  hito 


142  QUEECHY. 

so  much,  I  believe — I  don't  think  there  is  any  moral  expression  i* 
his  face." 

'•  I  wonder  why  they  like  him."  said  Hugh. 

It  was  a  somewhat  irregular  and  desultory  education  that  the  two 
children  gathered  under  this  system  of  things.  The  masters  they 
had  were  rather  for  accomplishments  and  languages  than  for  any 
thing  solid  ;  the  rest  they  worked  out  for  themselves.  Fortunately 
they  both  loved  books,  and  rational  books  ;  and  hours  and  hours, 
when  Mrs.  Rossitur  and  her  daughter  were  paying  or  receiving 
visits,  they,  always  together,  were  stowed  away  behind  the  book 
Cases  or  in  the  library  window  poring  patiently  over  pages  of  various 
complexion  ;  and  soft  turning  of  the  leaves  or  Fleda's  frequent  ac 
tions  to  King  the  only  sound  in  the  room.  They  walked  together, 
talking  of  what  they  had  read,  though  indeed  they  ranged  beyond 
that  into  nameless  and  numberless  fields  of  speculation,  where  if 
they  sometimes  found  fruit  they  as  often  lost  their  way.  However 
the  habit  of  ranging  was  something.  Then  when  they  joined  the 
rest  of  the  family  at  the  dinner-table,  especially  if  others  were 
present,  and  most  especially  if  a  certain  German  gentleman  hap 
pened  to  be  there  who  the  second  winter  after  their  return  Fleda 
thought  came  very  often,  she  and  Hugh  would  be  sure  to  find  the 
strange  talk  of  the  world  that  was  going  on  unsuited  and  wearisome 
to  them,  and  they  would  make  their  escape  up-stairs  again  to  handle 
the  pencil  and  to  play  the  flute  and  to  read,  and  to  draw  plans  for 
the  future,  .while  King  crept  upon  the  skirts  of  his  mistress's  gown 
and  laid  his  little  head  on  her  feet.  Nobody  ever  thought  of  send 
ing  them  to  school.  Hugh  was  a  child  of  frail  health,  and  though 
not  often  very  ill  was  often  near  it ;  and  as  for  Fleda,  she  and  Hugh 
were  inseparable  ;  and  besides  by  thie  time  her  uncle  and  aunt 
would  almost  as  soon  have  thought  of  taking  the  mats  off  their 
delicate  shrubs  in  winter  as  of  exposing  her  to  any  atmosphere  less 
genial  than  that  of  home. 

For  Fleda  this  doubtful  course  of  mental  training  wrought  singu 
larly  well.  And  uncommonly  quick  eye  and  strong  memory  and 
clear  head,  which  she  had  even  in  childhood,  passed  over  no  field 
of  truth  or  fancy  without  making  their  quiet  gleanings  ;  and  the 
stores  thus  gathered,  though  somewhat  miscellaneous  and  unar- 
ranged,  were  both  rich  and  uncommon,  and  more  than  any  one  or 
she  herself  knew.  Perhaps  such  a  mind  thus  left  to  itself  knew  a 
more  free  and  luxuriant  growth  than  could  ever  have  flourished 
within  the  confinement  of  rules.  Perhaps  a  plant  at  once  so  strong 
and  so  delicate  was  safest  without  the  hand  of  the  dresser.  At  all 
events  it  was  permitted  to  spring  and  to  put  forth  all  its  native 
.gracefulness  alike  unhindered  and  unknown.  Cherished  as  little 
Fleda  was,  her  mind  kept  company  with  no  one  but  herself, — and 
Hugh.  As  to  externals, — music  was  uncommonly  loved  by  both 
the  children,  and  by  both  cultivated  with  great  success.  So  much 
came  under  Mrs.  Rossitur' s  knowledge.  Also  every  foreign  Signof 
and  Madame  that  came  into  the  house  to  teach  them  spoke  with 
enthusiasm  of  the  apt  minds  and  flexile  tongues  that  honored 
their  instructions.  In  private  and  in  public  the  gentle,  docile,  and 
affectionate  children  answered  every  wish  both  of  taste  and  judg- 
And  perhaps,  in  a  world  where  education  is  not  understood* 


QUEECHY.  148 

their  guardians  might  be  pardoned  for  taking  it  for  granted  that  aU 
was  right  where  nothing  appeared  that  was  wrong  ;  certainly  they 
took  no  pains  to  make  sure  of  the  fact.  In  this  case,  one  of  a 
thousand,  their  neglect  was  not  punished  with  disappointment. 
They  never  found  out  that  Hugh's  mind  wanted  the  strengthening 
that  early  skillful  training  might  have  given  it.  His  intellectual 
tastes  were  not  so  strong  as  Fleda's  ;  his  reading  was  more  super 
ficial  ;  his  gleanings  not  so  sound  and  in  far  fewer  fields,  and  they 
went  rather  to  nourish  sentiment  and  fancy  than  to  stimulate 
thought  or  lay  up  food  for  it.  But  his  parents  saw  nothing  of 
this. 

The  third  winter  had  not  passed,  when  Fleda's  discernment  saw 
that  Mr.  Sweden,  as  she  called  him,  the  German  gentleman,  would 
not  cease  coming  to  the  house  till  he  he  had  carried  off  Marion  with 
him.  Her  opinion  on  the  subject  was  delivered  to  no  one  but  Hugh. 

That  winter  introduced  them  to  a  better  acquaintance.  One  even 
ing  Dr.  Gregory,  an  uncle  of  Mrs.  Rossitur's,  had  been  dining  with 
her  and  was  in  the  drawing-room.  '  Mr.  Schwiden  had  been  there 
too,  and  he  and  Marion  and  one  or  two  other  young  people  had 
gone  out  to  some  popular  entertainment.  The  children  knew  lit 
tle  of  Dr.  Gregory  but  that  he  was  a  very  respectable-looking  el 
derly  gentleman,  a  little  rough  in  his  manners  ;  the  doctor  had  not 
long  been  returned  from  a  stay  of  some  years  in  Europe  where  he 
had  been  collecting  rare  books  for  a  fine  public  library,  the  charge 
of  which  was  now  entrusted  to  him.  After  talking  some  time  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rossitur  the  doctor  pushed  round  his'chair  to  take  a 
look  at  the  children. 

"  So  that's  Amy's  child,"  said  he.     "  Come  here  Amy." 

"  That  is  not  my  name,"  said  the  little  girl  coming  forward. 

"  Isn't  it?     It  ought  to  be.     What  is  then  ?  " 

"Elflecla." 

"  Elfleda! — Where  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  auricular  di*t  you 
get  such  an  outlandish  name?  " 

"My  father  gave  it  to  me,  sir,"  said  Fleda,  with  a  dignified 
sobriety  which  amused  the  old  gentleman. 

"  Your  father  ! — Hum — I  understand.  And  couldn't  your  father 
find  a  cap  that  fitted  you  without  going  back  to  the  old-fashioned 
days  of  King  Alfred?" 

"  Yes  sir  ;  it  was  my  grandmother's  cap." 

"  I  am  afraid  your  grandmother's  cap  isn't  all  of  her  that's  com« 
iown  to  you,"  said  he,  tapping  his  snuff-box  and  looking  at  her 
with  a  curious  twinkle  in  his  eyes.  "  What  do  you  call  your 
self?  Haven't  you  some  variations  of  this  tongue-twisting  ap 
pellative  to  serve  for  every  day  and  save  trouble  ?  " 

"They  call  me  Fleda,"  said  the  little  girl,  who  could  not  help 
laughing. 

"  Nothing  better  than  that  ?  " 

Fleda  remembered  two  prettier  nick-names  which  had  been  hers  ; 
but  one  had  been  given  by  dear  lips  long  ago,  and  she  was  not 
going  to  have  it  profaned  by  common  use  ;  and  "  Elfie  "  belonged 
to  Mr.  Carleton.  She  would  own  to  nothing  but  Fleda. 

"  Well  Miss  Fleda,"  said  the  doctor,  "  are  you  going  to  school?  " 

••No  sir." 


144  QUEECHY 

"  You  intend  to  live  without  such  a  vulgar  thing  as  learning  ?** 

"  No  sir — Hugh  and  I  have  our  lessons  at  home  ?  " 

"  Teaching  each  other,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  O  no,  sir,"  said  Fleda  laughing  ; — "  Mme.  Lascelles  and  Mr. 
Schweppenhesser  and  Signer  Barytone  ^ome  to  teach  us,  besides 
our  music  masters." 

"  Do  you  ever  talk  German  with  this  Mr.  What's-his-name  who 
has  just  gone  out  with  your  cousin  Marion  ?" 

"  I  never  talk  to  him  at  all,  sir." 

"  Don't  you?  why  not?     Don't  you  like  him?  ' 

Fleda  said  "  not  particularly,"  and  seamed  to  wish  to  let  the  sub 
ject  pass,  but  the  doctor  was  amused  and  pressed  it. 

"Why  why  don't  you  like  him  ?"  said  he  ;  "lam  sure  he's  a 
fine-looking  dashing  gentleman, — dresses  as  well  as  anybody,  and 
talks  as  much  as  most  people, — why  don't  you  like  him?  Isn't  he 
a  handsome  fellow,  eh?  " 

"  I  dare  say  he  is,  to  many  people,"  said  Fleda. 

"She  said  she  didn't  think  there  was  any  moral  expression  in 
ftis  face,"  said  Hugh,  by  way  of  settling  the  matter. 

"  Moral  expression  !  "  cried  the  doctor, — •«  moral  expression ! — 
and  what  if  there  isn't,  you  Elf! — What  if  there  isn't  ?  " 

"  I  shouldn't  care  what  other  kind  of  expression  it  had,"  said 
Fleda,  coloring  a  little. 

Mr.  Rossitur  '  pished  '  rather  impatiently.  The  doctor  glanced  at 
his  niece,  and  changed  the  subject. 

"Well  who  teaches  you  English,  Miss  Fleda?  you  haven't  told 
me  that  yet." 

^O  that  we  teach  ourselves,"  said  Fleda,  smiling  as  if  it  was  a 
very  innocent  question. 

"  Hum  ! — you  do  !     Pray  how  do  you  teach  yourselves?  " 

"  By  reading,  sir." 

"  Reading  !  And  what  do  you  read  ?  what  have  you  read  in  the 
last  twelve  months,  now  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  could  remember  all  exactly,"  said  Fleda. 

"  But  you  have  got  a  list  of  them  all,"  said  Hugh,  who  chanced 
to  have  been  looking  over  said  list  a  day  or  two  before  and  felt  quite 
proud  of  it. 

"  Let's  have  it — let's  have  it,"  said  the  doctor.  And  Mrs.  Rossi 
tur  laughing  said  "  Let's  have  it ;  "  and  even  her  husband  com 
manded  Hugh  to  go  and  fetch  it ;  so  poor  Fleda,  though  not  a  little 
unwilling,  was  obliged  to  let  the  list  be  forthcoming.  Hugh  brought 
k,  in  a  neat  little  book  covered  with  pink  blotting  paper. 

"Now  for  it,"  said  the  doctor; — "  let  us  see  what  this  English 
amounts  to.  Can  you  stand  fire,  Elfleda  ?  " 

*'Jan.  I.     Robinson  Crusoe.' 

"  Hum — that  sounds  reasonable,  at  all  events." 

"  I  had  it  for  a  New  Year  present,"  remarked  Fleda,  who  stood 
by  with  down-cast  eyes,  like  a  person  undergoing  an  examination. 

'  Jan.  2.     Histoire  de  France.' 

"What  history  of  France  is  this?  " 

Fleda  hesitated  and  then  said  it  was  by  Lacretelle. 

••Lacretelle  ? — what,  of  the  Revolution?" 

*  A  true  list  made  by  a  child  of  that  age. 


QUEECHY.  H5 

"•  No  sir,  it  is  before  that  :.  it  is  in  five  or  six  large  volumes." 

"  What,  Louis  XV's  time  !  "  said  the  doctor  muttering  to  him, 
self, 

•Jan.  27.  2.  ditto,  ditto/ 

"  '  Two'  means  the  second  volume  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes  sir." 

"  Hum  —  if  you  were  a  mouse  you  would  gnaw  through  the  wall 
in  tune  at  that  rate.  This  is  in  the  original?  " 

"Yes  sir." 

°  Feb.  3.     Paris.  L.  E.  K.* 

£;  What  do  these  hieroglyphics  mean?  " 

"  That   stands   for  the  •  Library  of  Entertaining  Knowledge, 
said  Fleda. 

"  But  how  is  this?  —  do  you  go  hop  skip  and  jump  through  these 
books,  or  read  a  little  and  then  throw  them  away  ?  Here  it  is  only 
seven  days  since  you  began  the  second  volume  of  Lacretelle  —  not 
time  enough  to  get  through  it." 

"  O  no,  sir,"  said,  Fleda  smiling,  —  "  I  like  to  have  several  books 
that  I  am  reading  in  at  once,  —  I  mean  —  at  the  same  time,  you 
know  ;  and  then  if  I  am  not  in  the  mood  of  one  I  take  up  another." 

"  She  reads  them  all  through,"  said  Hugh,  —  "always,  though  she 
reads  them  very  quick." 

"  Hum  —  I  understand,"  said  the  old  doctor  with  a  humorous  ex° 
pression,  going  on  with  the  list. 

'  March  3.     3  Hist,  de  France.' 

"  But  you  finish  one  of  these  volumes,  I  suppose,  before  you  be 
gin  another  ;  or  do  you  dip  into  different  parts  of  the  same  work  at 


"  O  no,  sir  ;  —  of  course  not?  " 

•Mar.  5.     Modern  Egyptians.     L.  E.  K.     Ap.  13.' 

"  What  are  these  dates  on  the  right  as  well  as  on  the  left  ?  " 

"  Those  on  the  right  show  when  I  finished  the  volume/' 

"  Well  I  wonder  what  you  were  cut  out  for!  "  said  the  doctor. 
"  A  Quaker!  —  You  aren't  a  Quaker,  are  you?  " 

"  No  sir,"  said  Fleda  laughing. 

"  You  look  like  it,"  said  he. 

4  Feb.  24.    Five  Penny  Magazines,  finished  Mar.  4.' 

"They  are  in  paper  numbers,  you  know,  sir." 

"  April  4.     4  Hist.  de.  F.' 

<:  Let  us  see  —  the  third  volume  was  finished  March  29  —  I  declan 
/ou  keep  it  up  pretty  well." 

'  Ap.  19.     Incidents  of  Travel.' 

"  Whose  is  that?" 

"  It  is  by  Mr.  Stephens." 

'  '  How  did  you  like  it  ?  " 

(t  O  very  much  indeed." 

"Ay,  I  see  you  did  ;  you  finished  it  by  the  first  of  May.  'Tow 
to  the  Hebrides'—  what  ?  Johnson's?" 

"Yes  sir." 

"  Read  it  all  fairly  through?" 

"  Yes  sir,  certainly." 

He  smiled  and  went  on. 

•May  1  2.     Peter  Simple!* 


1*6  QUKECHT. 

There  was  quite  a  shout  at  the  heterogeneous  character  of  Fleda'si 
reading,  which  she,  not  knowing  exactly  what  to  make  of  it,  heard 

rather  abashed. 

41  •  Peter  Simple' !  "  said  the  doctor,  settling  himself  to  go  on 
with  his  list ;— « •  well,  let  us  see. — •  World  without  Souls.'  Why  you 
Elf!  read  in  two  days." 

••  it  is  very  short,  you  know,  sir." 

"What  did  you  think  of  it?" 

"  I  liked  parts  of  it  very  much." 

He  went  on,  still  smiling. 

•June  15      Goldsmith's  Animated  Nature.* 

'     «•    1 8.     i  Life  of  Washington.' 

"  What  Life  of  Washington?  " 

••  Marshall's." 

"Hum.— 'July  9.  2  Goldsmith's  An.  Na.'  As  I  live,  beguu 
the  very  day  the  first  volume  was  finished.  Did  you  read  the  whole 
of  that?  ' 

"  O  yes,  sir.     I  liked  that  book  very  much." 

•July  12.     5  Hist,  de  France.' 

"  Two  histories  on  hand  at  once  !  Out  of  all  rule,  Miss  Fleda  ! 
We  must  look  after  you." 

"Yes  sir;  sometimes  I  wanted  to  read  one,  and  sometimes  I 
wanted  to  read  the  other." 

"  And  you  always  do  what  you  want  to  do,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  think  the  reading  does  me  more  good  in  that  way." 

•  July  15.     Paley's  Natural  Theology  !  ' 

There  was  another  shout.     Poor  Fleda's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  What  in  the  world  put  that  book  into  your  head,  or  before  your 
eyes?"  said  the  doctor. 

"I  don't  know,  sir — I  thought  I  should  like  to  read  it,"  said 
Fleda,  drooping  her  eyelids  that  the  bright  drops  under  them  might 
not  be  seen. 

"  And  finished  in  eleven  days,  as  I  live  !  "  said  the  doctor  wag 
ging  his  head.     'July  19.     3  Goldsmith's  A.  N.' 
4  Aug.  6.     4         Do.  Do. 

"That  is  one  of  Fleda's  favorite  books,"  put  in  Hugh. 

"So  It  seems.     '  6  Hist,  de  France.' — What  does  this  little  cross 


mean 


"That  shows  when  the  book  is  finished,"  said  Fleda,  looking  on 

ihe  page, — "  the  last  volume,  I  mean." 

"  «  Retrospect  of  Western  Travel ' — '  Goldsmith's  A.  N.,  last  vol.* 

— •'  Memoirs  de  Sully  ' — in  the  French  ?  " 
"Yes  sir." 
"  'Life  of  Newton'— What's  this?—4  Sep.  8.     I  Fairy  Queen! ' 

—not  Spenser's?  " 

51  Yes  sir,  I  believe  so — the  Fairy  Queen,  in  five  volumes." 
The  doctor  looked  up  comically  at  his  niece  and  her  husband 

who  were  both  sitting  or  standing  close  by. 

"  '  Sep.  10.     Paolo  e  Virginia.' — In  what  language?  " 

"  Italian,  sir  ;  I  was  just  beginning,  and  I  haven't  finished  it  yet.' 

"'Sep.    16.     Milner's   Church    History'! — What   the   deuce 'J— 

•Vol.  2.     Fairy  Queen.' — Why  this  must  have  been  a  favorite  book 

too." 


QUEECHT.  147 

"That's  one  of  the  books  Fleda  loves  best,"  said  Hugh  ; — "  she 
went  through  that  very  fast." 

"  Over  it,  you  mean,  I  reckon  ;  how  much  did  you  skip,  Fleda  ?  *' 

"  I  didn't  skip  at  all,"  said  Fleda  ;  "  I  read  every  word  of  it." 

"'Sep.  20.  2  Mem.  de  Sully.' — Well,  you're  an  industrious 
mouse,  I'll  say  that  for  you. — What's  this — '  Don  Quixotte  !  ' — 
•Life  of  Howard' — 'Nov.  17.  3  Fairy  Queen.' — 'Nov.  29.  4 
Fairy  Queen.' — '  Dec.  8.  I  Goldsmith's  England.' — Well  if  this 
list  of  books  is  a  fair  exhibit  of  your  taste  and  capacity,  you  have  s 
most  happily  proportioned  set  of  intellectuals.  Let  us  see — History, 
fun,  facts,  nature,  theology,  poetry  and  divinity  ! — upon  my  soul  !  — 
and  poetry  and  history  the  leading  features  ! — a  little  fun, — as  much 
as,  you  could  lay  your  hand  OH,  I'll  warrant,  by  that  pinch  in  the 
corner  of  your  eye.  And  here,  the  eleventh  of  December,  you  fin 
ished  the  Fairy  Queen  ; — and  ever  since,  I  suppose,  you  have  been 
imagining  yourself  the  '  faire  Una,1  with  Hugh  standing  ft>r  Princt 
Arthur  or  the  Red-cross  knight, — haven't  you?" 

"  No  sir.     I  didn't  imagine  anything  about  it." 

"  Don't  tell  me  !     What  did  you  read  it  for?  " 

"  Only  because  I  liked  it,  sir.  I  liked  it  better  than  any  other 
book  I  read  last  year." 

"  You  did  !  Well,  the  year  ends,  I  see,  with  another  volume  of 
Sully.  I  won't  enter  upon  this  year's  list.  Pray  how  much  of  all 
these  volumes  do  you  suppose  you  remember?  I'll  try  and  find 
out,  next  time  I  come  to  see  you.  I  can  give  a  guess,  if  you  study 
with  that  little  pug  in  your  lap." 

'^He  is  not  a  pug  !  "  said  Fleda,  in  whose  arms  King  was  lying 
luxuriously, — "  and  he  never  gets  into  my  lap  besides." 

"  Don't  he!     Why  not?" 

"  Because  I  don't  like  it,  sir.     I  don't  like  to  see  dogs  in  laps." 

"  But  all  the  ladies  in  the  land  do  it,  you  little  Saxon  !  it  is  uni 
versally  considered  a  mark  of  distinction." 

"  I  can't  help  what  all  the  ladies  in  the  land  do,"  said  Fleda. 
"  That  won't  alter  my  liking,  and  I  don't  think  a  lady's  lap  is  a 
place  for  a  dog." 

"  I  wish  you  were  my  daughter!  "  said  the  old  doctor,  shaking 
his  head  at  her  with  a  comic  fierce  expression  of  countenance,  which 
Fleda  perfectly  understood  and  laughed  at  accordingly.  Then  a^ 
the  two  children  with  the  dog  went  off  into  the  other  room,  he  said? 
turning  to  his  niece  and  Mr.  Rossitur, 

"  If  that  girl  ever  takes  a  wrong  turn  with  the  bit  in  her  teeth* 
you'll  be  puzzled  to  hold  her.  What  stuff  will  you  make  the 
reins  of  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  she  ever  will  take  a  wrong  turn,"  said  Mr.  Ros 
situr. 

"A  look  is  enough  to  manage  her,  if  she  did,"  said  his  wife. 
"  Hugh  is  not  more  gentle." 

"  I  should  be  inclined  rather  to  fear  her  not  having  stability  of 
character  enough,"  said  Mr.  Rossitur.  "  She  is  so  very  meek  and 
yielding,  I  almost  doubt  whether  anything  would  give  her  courage 
to  take  ground  of  her  own  and  keep  it." 

"  Hum well,  well !  "  said  the  old  doctor,  walking  off  after  the 

children.  "  Prince  Arthur,  will  you  bring  this  damsel  up  to  my  den 


148  QVEEC3T. 

some  of  these  days  ? — the  •  faire  Una  "  is  safe  from  the  wild  beasts, 
you  know  ; — and  I'll  show  her  books  enough  to  build  herself  a 
house  with,  if  she  likes." 

The  acceptance  of  this  invitation  led  to  some  of  the  pleasantest 
hours  of  Fleda's  city  life.  The  visits  to  the  great  library  became 
very  frequent  Dr.  Gregory  and  the  children  were  little  while  in 
growing  fond  of  each  other  ;  he  loved  to  see  them  and  taught  them 
to  come  at  such  times  as  the  library  was  free  of  visitors  and  his 
hands  of  engagements.  Then  he  delighted  himself  with  giving 
hem  pleasure,  especially  Fleda,  whose  quick  curiosity  and  intelli 
gence  were  a  constant  amusement  to  him.  He  would  establish 
ihe  children  in  some  corner  of  the  large  apartments,  out  of  the 
way  behind  a  screen  of  books  and  tables ;  and  there  shut  out  from 
the  world  they  would  enjoy  a  kind  of  fairyland  pleasure  over  some 
volume  or  set  of  engravings  that  they  could  not  see  at  home. 
Hours  and  hours  were  spent  so.  Fleda  would  stand  clasping  her 
hands  before  Audubon,  or  rapt  over  a  finely  illustrated  book  of 
travels,  or  going  through  and  through  with  Hugh  the  works  of 
the  best  masters  of  the  pencil  and  the  graver.  The  doctor  found 
he  could  trust  them,  and  then  all  the  treasures  of  the  library  were 
at  their  disposal.  Very  often  he  put  chosen  pieces  of  reading  into 
their  hands  ;  and  it  was  pleasantest  of  all  when  he  was  not  busy 
and  came  and  sat  down  with  them ;  for  with  all  his  odd  manner 
he  was  extremely  kind,  and  could  and  did  put  them  in  the  way  to 
profit  greatly  by  their  opportunities.  The  doctor  and  the  children 
had  nice  times  there  together. 

They  lasted  for  many  months,  and  grew  more  and  more  wortX 
Mr.  Schwiden  carried  off  Marion,  as  Fleda  had  foreseen  he  would, 
before  the  end  of  spring  ;  and  after  she  was  gone  something  like 
the  old  pleasant  Paris  life  was  taken  up  again.  They  had  no  more 
company  now  than  was  agreeable,  and  it  was  picked  not  to  suit 
Marion's  taste  but  her  father's, — a  very  different  matter.  Fleda 
and  Hugh  were  not  forbidden  the  dinner-table,  and  so  had  the  good 
of  hearing  much  useful  conversation  from  which  the  former,  ac 
cording  to  custom,  made  her  steady  precious  gleanings.  The  pleas 
ant  evenings  in  the  family  were  still  better  enjoyed  than  they  used 
to  be  ;  Fleda  was  older  ;  and  the  snug  handsome  American  house 
had  a  home-feeling  to  her  that  the  wide  Parisian  saloons  never  knew. 
She  had  become  bound  to  her  uncle  and  aunt  by  all  but  the  ties  of 
blood;  nobody  in  the  house  ever  remembered  that  she  was  not  born 
i'heir  daughter ;  except  indeed  Fleda  herself,  who  remembered 
everything,  and  with  whom  the  forming  of  any  new  affections  or 
relations  somehow  never  blotted  out  or  even  faded  the  register  of 
the  old.  It  lived  in  all  its  brightness  ;  the  writing  of  past  loves  and 
friendships  was  as  plain  as  ever  in  her  heart  ;  and  often,  often  the 
eye  and  the  kiss  of  memory  fell  upon  it.  In  the  secret  of  her  heart's 
core  ;  for  still,  as  at  the  first,  no  one  had  a  suspicion  of  the  movings 
of  thought  that  were  beneath  that  childish  brow.  No  one  guessed 
how  clear  a  judgment  weighed  and  decided  upon  many  things.  No 
one  dreamed,  amid  their  busy,  bustling,  thoughtless  life,  how  often, 
in  the  street,  in  her  bed.  in  company" and  alone,  her  mother's  ia9t 
prayer  was  in  Fleda's  heart ;  well  cherished  ;  never  forgotten. 

Her  education  and  Hugh's  meanwhile  went  on  after  the  oW  fash* 


QUEECH\ .  tit 

ion.  If  Mr.  Rossitur  had  more  time  he  seemed  to  have  no  more 
thought  for  the  matter  ;  and  Mrs.  Rossitur,  fine-natured  as  she  was. 
had  never  been  trained  to  self-exertion  and  of  course  was  entirely 
out  of  the  way  of  training  others.  Her  children  were  pieces  of  per 
fection,  and  needed  no  oversight  ;  her  house  was  a  piece  of  perfec 
tion  too.  If  either  had  not  been,  Mrs.  Rossitur  would  have  been 
utterly  at  a  loss  how  to  mend  matters,— except  in  the  latter  instance 
by  getting  a  new  housekeeper  ;  and  as  Mrs.  Renney,  the  good 
.voman  who  held  that  station,  was  in  everybody's  opinion  another 
reasure,  Mrs.  Rossitur's  mind  was  uncrossed  by  the  shadow  of  such 
a  dilemma.  With  Mrs.  Renney  as  with  everyone  else  Fleda  was 
held  in  highest  regard  ;  always  welcome  to  her  premises  and  to  those 
mysteries  of  her  trade  which  were  sacred  from  other  intrusion. 
Fleda's  natural  inquisitiveness  carried  her  often  to  the  housekeeper's 
room  and  made  her  there  the  same  curious  and  careful  observer  that 
she  had  been  in  the  library  or  at  the  Louvre. 

"  Come,"  said  Hugh  one  day  when  he  had  sought  and  found  hei 
in  Mrs.  Renney's  precincts, — "  come  away,  Fleda  !  What  do  you 
want  to  stand  here  and  see  Mrs.  Renney  roll  butter  and  sugar  for  ?" 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Rossitur!  "  said  Fleda, — "you  don't  understand 
quelquechoses.  How  do  you  know  but  I  may  have  to  get  my  living 
by  making  them,  some  day." 

"  By  making  what  ?  "  said  Hugh. 

"Quelquechoses, — anglice,  kickshaws, — alias,  sweet  trifles  de« 
nominated  merrings." 

"  Pshaw,  Fleda  !  " 

"  Miss  Fleda  is  more  likely  to  get  her  living  by  eating  them,  Mr. 
Hugh,  isn't  she  ?  "  said  the  housekeeper. 

"I  hope  to  decline  both  lines  of  life,"  said  Fleda  laughingly  as 
she  followed  Hugh  out  of  the  room.  But  her  chance  remark  had 
grazed  the  truth  sufficiently  near. 

Those  years  in  New  York  were  a  happy  time  for  little  Fleda,  a 
time  when  mind  and  body  flourished  under  the  sun  of  prosperity. 
Luxury  did  not  spoil  her  ;  and  anyone  that  saw  her  in  the  soft  furs 
of  her  winter  wrappings  would  have  said  that  delicate  cheek  and 
frame  were  never  made  to  know  the  unkindliness  of  harsher  things. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Whereunto  is  money  good  ? 
Who  has  it  not  wants  hardihood, 
Who  has  it  has  much  trouble  and  care, 
Who  once  has  had  it  has  despair. 

LONGFELLOW.     Front  the  German. 

IT  was  the  middle  of  winter.  One  day  Hugh  and  Fleda  had 
come  home  from  their  walk.  They  dashed  into  the  parlor,  com 
plaining  that  it  was  bitterly  cold,  and  began  unrobing  before  the 
glowing  grate,  which  was  a  mass  of  living  fire  from  end  to  end. 
Mrs.  Rossitur  was  there  in  an  easy  chair,  alone  and  doing  nothing. 
That  was  not  a  thing  absolutely  unheard  of,  but  Fleda  had  not 
pulled  off  her  second  glove  before  she  bent  down  toward  her  and  in 
a  changed  tone  tenderly  asked  if  she  did  not  feel  well  ? 

Mrs.  Rossitur  looked  up  in  her  face  a  minute,  and  then  drawing 


100  QUEECffr. 

her  down  kissed  the  blooming  cheeks  one  and  the  other  several 
times.  But  as  she  looked  off  to  the  fire  again  Fleda  saw  that  it  was 
through  watering  eyes.  She  dropped  on  her  knees  by  the  side  of 
the  easy  chair  that  she  might  have  a  better  sight  of  that  face,  and 
tried  to  read  it  as  she  asked  again  what  was  the  matter  ;  and  Hugh 
coming  to  the  other  side  repeated  her  question.  His  mother  passed 
an  arm  around  each,  looking  wistfully  from  one  to  the  other  and 
kissing  them  earnestly,  but  she  said  only,  with  a  very  heart-felt  ein 
phasis,  ••  Poor  children  !  " 

Fleda  was  now  afraid  to  speak,  but  Hugh  pressed  his  inquiry, 
1  Why  '  poor  '  mamma  ?  what  makes  you  say  so?  " 
1  Because  you  are  poor  really,  dear  Hugh.     We  have  lost  every- 
th  ng  we  have  in  the  world." 

Mamma!     What  do  you  mean  ?" 
Your  father  has  failed." 

Failed  ! — But  mamma  I  thought  he  wasn't  in  business? ' 
'So  I  thought,"  said  Mrs.   Rossitur ; — "I  didn't  know  people 
could  fail  that  were  not  in  business  ;  but  it  seems  they  can.    He  was 
a  partner  in  some  concern  or  other,  and  it's  all  broken  to  pieces, 
and  your  father  with  it,  he  says." 

Mrs.  Rossitur's  face  was  distressful.  They  were  all  silent  for  a 
little ;  Hugh  kissing  his  mother's  wet  cheeks.  Fleda  had  softly 
nestled  her  head  in  her  bosom.  But  Mrs.  Rossitur  soon  recovered 
herself. 

1  How  bad  is  it,  mother?  "  said  Hugh. 
«  As  bad  as  it  can  possibly  be." 
'  Is  everything  gone  ?  " 
'  Everything  !  " — 

You  don't  mean  the  house,  mamma  ?  " 
The  house,  and  all  that  is  in  it." 
The  children's  hearts  were  struck,   and  they  were  silent  again, 
only  a  trembling  touch  of  Fleda's  lips  spoke  sympathy  and  patience 
if  ever  a  kiss  did. 

"  But  mamma,"  said  Hugh,  after  he  had  gathered  breath  for  it, — 
"  do  you  mean  to  say  that  everything,  literally  everything,  is  gone  ? 
is  there  nothing  left  ?  " 

"  Nothing  in  the  world — not  a  sou." 
"Then  what  are  we  going  to  do !  " 
Mrs.  Rossitur  shook  her  head,  and  had  no  words. 
Fleda  looked  across  to  Hugh  to  ask  no  more,  and  putting  hei 
arms  round  her  aunt's  neck  and  laying  cheek  to  cheek,  she  spoke 
what  comfort  she  could. 

"  Don't,  dear  aunt  Lucy! — there  will  be  some  way — things  al 
ways  turn  out  better  than  at  first — I  dare  say  we  shall  find  out  it 
isn't  so  bad  by  and  by.  Don't  you  mind  it,  and  then  we  won't. 
We  can  be  happy  anywhere  together." 

If  there  was  not  much  in  the  reasoning  there  was  something  in  the 
tone  of  the  words  to  bid  Mrs.  Rossitur  bear  herself  well.  Its  tremu 
lous  sweetness,  its  anxious  love,  was  without  a  taint  of  self-recollec 
tion  ;  its  sorrow  was  for  her.  Mrs.  Rossitur  felt  that  she  must  not 
show  herself  overcome.  She  again  kissed  and  blessed  and  pressed 
closer  in  her  arms  her  little  comforter,  while  her  other  hand  was 
given  to  Hugh. 


qUEECHY.  151 

"I  have  only  heard  about  it  this  morning.  Your  uncle  was  here 
telling  me  just  now, — a  little  while  before  y->u  came  in.  Don't  say 
anything  about  it  before  him." 

Why  not  ?    The  words  struck  Fleda  disagreeably. 

"  What  will  be  done  with  the  house,  mamma?  "  said  Hugh. 

•'  Sold — sold,  and  everything  in  it." 

"  Papa's  books,  mamma !  and  all  the  things  in  the  library  !  "  ex 
claimed  Hugh,  looking  terrified. 

Mrs.  Rossitur's  face  gave  the  answer  ;  do  it  in  words  she  could 
lot. 

The  children  were  a  long  time  silent,  trying  hard  to  swallow  this 
Oitter  pill ;  and  still  Hugh's  hand  was  in  his  mother's  and  Fleda's 
head  lay  on  her  bosom.  Thought  was  busy,  going  up  and  down, 
and  breaking  the  companionship  they  had  so  long  held  with  the 
pieasant  drawing-room  and  the  tasteful  arrangements  among  which 
Fleda  was  so  much  at  home  ; — the  easy  chairs  in  whose  comfort 
able  arms  she  had  had  so  many  an  hour  of  nice  reading  ;  the  soft 
ruer  where  in  the  very  wantonness  of  frolic  she  had  stretched  her- 
seff  to  play  with  King  ;  that  very  luxurious  bright  grateful  of  fire, 
which  had  given  her  so  often  the  same  warm  welcome  home,  an  apt 
introduction  to  the  other  stores  of  comfort  which  awaited  her  above 
and  below  stairs  ;  the  rich-colored  curtains  and  carpet,  the  beauty 
of  which  had  been  such  a  constant  gratification  to  Fleda's  eye  ;  and 
the  exquisite  French  table  and  lamps  they  had  brought  out  with 
them,  in  which  her  uncle  and  aunt  had  so  much  pride  and  which 
could  nowhere  be  matched  for  elegance  ; — they  must  all  be  said 
1  good-bye  '  to  ;  and  as  yet  fancy  had  nothing  to  furnish  the  future 
with  ;  it  looked  very  bare. 

King  had  come  in  and  wagged  himself  up  close  to  his  mistress, 
but  even  he  could  obtain  nothing  but  the  touch  of  most  abstracted 
finger-ends.  Yet,  though  keenly  recognized,  these  thoughts  were 
only  passing  compared  with  the  anxious  and  sorrowful  ones  that 
went  to  her  aunt  and  uncle  ;  for  Hugh  and  her,  she  judged,  it  was 
less  matter.  And  Mrs.  Rossitur's  care  was  most  for  her  husband  ; 
and  Hugh's  was  for  them  all.  His  associations  were  less  quick  and 
his  tastes  less  keen  than  Fleda's  and  less  a  part  of  himself.  Hugh 
lived  in  his  affections  ;  with  a  salvo  to  them  he  could  bear  to  lose 
anything  and  go  anywhere. 

11  Mamma,"  said  he  after  a  long  time, — "  will  anything  be  done 
#ith  Fleda's  books  ?  " 

A  question  that  had  been  in  Fleda's  mind  before,  but  which  she 
had  patiently  forborne  just  then  to  ask. 

"  No  indeed  !  "  said  Mrs.  Rossitur,  pressing  Fleda  more  closely 
and  kissing  in  a  kind  of  rapture  the  sweet  thoughtful  face  ; — "  not 
yours,  my  darling  ;  they  can't  touch  anything  that  belongs  to  you 
— I  wish  it  was  more — and  I  don't  suppose  they  will  take  anything 
of  mine  either." 

"  Ah,  well!  "  said  Fleda  raising  her  head,  "  you  have  got  quite  a 
parcel  of  books,  aunt  Lucy,  and  I  have  a  good  many — how  well  it 
is  I  have  had  so  many  given  me  since  I  have  been  here  ! — That  will 
make  quite  a  nice  little  library,  both  together,  and  Hugh  has  some  ; 
I  thought  perhaps  we  shouldn't  have  one  at  all  left,  and  that  would 
have  been  rather  bad." 


m  QUEECHY. 

*  Rather  bad  *  !     Mrs.  Rossitur  looked  at  her  and  was  dumb. 

"Only  don't  you  wear  a  sad  face  for  anything  !  "  Fleda  weal 
on  earnestly  ; — "  we  shall  be  perfectly  happy  if  you  and  uncle  Rolf 
only  will  be." 

••  My  dear  children  !  "  said  Mrs.  Rossitur  wiping  her  eyes,- — "  it 
is  for  you  I  am  unhappy — you  and  your  uncle  : — I  do  not  think  of 
myself." 

"  And  we  do  not  think  of  ourselves,  mamma,"  said  Hugh. 

"  I  know  it — but  having  good  children  don't  make  one  care  5e? 
about  them,"  said  Mrs.    Rossitur,  the  tears  fairly  raining  ovc 
fingers. 

Hugh  pulled  the  fingers  down  and  again  tried  the  efficacy  oi  r. 
lips. 

"  And  you  know  papa  thinks  most  of  you,  mamma.  ' 

"  Ah,  your  father  !  " — said  Mrs.  Rossitur  shaking  her  head, — "  1 
am  afraid  it  will  go  hard  with  him  ! — But  I  will  be  happy  as  long  as 
I  have  you  two,  or  else  I  should  be  a  very  wicked  woman.  It  only 
grieves  me  to  think  of  your  education  and  prospects — " 

"  Fleda's  piano,  mamma !  "  said  Hugh  with  sudden  dismay. 

Mrs.  Rossitur  shook  her  head  again  and  covered  her  eyes,  while 
Fleda  stretching  across  to  Hugh  gave  him  by  look  and  touch  an 
earnest  admonition  to  let  that  subject  alone.  And  then  with  a 
sweetness  and  gentleness  like  nothing  but  the  breath  of  the  south 
wind,  she  wooed  her  aunt  to  hope  and  resignation.  Hugh  held 
back,  feeling,  or  thinking,  that  Fleda  could  do  it  better  than  he,  and 
watching  her  progress,  as  Mrs.  Rossitur  took  her  hand  from  her 
face,  and  smiled,  at  first  mournfully  and  then  really  mirthfully  in 
Fleda's  face,  at  some  sally  that  nobody  but  a  nice  observer  would 
have  seen  was  got  up  for  the  occasion.  And  it  was  hardly  that,  so 
completely  had  the  child  forgotten  her  own  sorrow  in  ministering  to 
that  of  another.  "  Blessed  are  the  peacemakers  !  "  It  is  always 
so. 

'•  You  are  a  witch  or  a  fairy,"  said  Mrs  Rossitur,  catching  her 
again  in  her  arms, — "nothing  else!  You  must  try  your  powers 
of  charming  upon  your  uncle." 

Fleda  laughed,  without  any  effort ;  but  as  to  trying  her  slight 
wand  upon  Mr.  Rossitur  she  had  serious  doubts.  And  the  doubts 
became  certainty  when  they  met  at  dinner  ;  he  looked  so  grave  that 
she  dared  not  attack  him.  It  was  a  gloomy  meal,  for  the  face  that 
should  have  lighted  the  whole  table  cast  a  shadow  there. 

Without  at  all  comprehending  the  whole  of  her  husband's  char 
acter  the  sure  magnetism  of  affection  had  enabled  Mrs.  Rossitur  to 
divine  his  thoughts.  Pride  was  his  ruling  passion  ;  not  such  pride 
as  Mr.  Carleton's,  which  was  rather  like  exaggerated  self-respect, 
but  wider  and  more  indiscriminate  in  its  choice  of  objects.  It  was 
pride  in  his  family  name  ;  pride  in  his  own  talents,  which  were  con 
siderable  ;  pride  in  his  family,  wife  and  children  and  all  of  which  he 
thought  did  him  honor, — if  they  had  not  his  love  for  them  assuredly 
would  have  known  some  diminishing  ; — pride  in  his  wealth  and  in 
the  attractions  with  which  it  surrounded  him  ;  and  lastly,  pride  in 
the  skill,  taste  and  connoisseurship  which  enabled  him  to  bring  those 
attractions  together.  Furthermore,  his  love  for  both  literature  and 
art  was  true  and  strong  ;  and  for  many  years  he  had  accustomed 


QUEECHY.  ,  IJW 

himself  to  lead  a  life  of  great  luxuriousness  ;  catering  for  body  and 
mind  in  every  taste  that  could  be  elegantly  enjoyed  ;  and  again 
proud  of  the  elegance  of  every  enjoyment.  The  change  of  circum 
stances  which  touched  his  pride  wounded  him  at  every  point  where 
he  was  vulnerable  at  all. 

Fleda  had  never  felt  so  afraid  of  him.  She  was  glad  to  see  Dr. 
Gregory  come  in  to  tea.  Mr.  Rossi fu/  was  not  there.  The  Doctor 
did  not  touch  upon  affairs,  if  he  had  heard  of  their  misfortune  ;  he 
went  on  as  usual  in  a  rambling  cheerful  way  all  tea-time,  talking 
mostly  to  Fleda  and  Hugh.  But  after  tea  he  talked  no  more  but 
;?.t  still  and  waited  till  the  master  of  the  house  came  in. 

Fleda  thought  Mr.  Rcssitur  did  not  look  glad  to  see  him.  But 
how  could  he  look  glad  about  anything  ?  He  did  not  sit  down,  and 
for  a  few  minutes  there  was  a  kind  of  meaning  silence.  Fleda  sat 
in  thfe  corner  with  the  heartache,  to  see  her  uncle's  gloomy  tramp 
up  and  down  the  rich  apartment,  and  her  aunt  Lucy's  gaze  at  him* 

"  Humph  ! — well — So  !  "  said  the  Doctor  at  last, — "You're  all 
gone  overboard  with  a  smash,  I  understand?" 

The  walker  gave  him  no  regard. 

"  True,  is  it  ?  "  said  the  doctor. 

Mr.  Rossitur  made  no  answer,  unless  a  smothered  grunt  might  be 
taken  for  one. 

"  How  came  it  about?  " 

"  Folly  and  Devilry." 

"  Humph  ! — bad  capital  to  work  upon.  I  hope  the  principal  is 
gone  with  the  interest.  What's  the  amount  of  your  loss  ?  " 

"  Ruin." 

"  Humph. — French  ruin,  or  American  ruin?  because  there's  a 
difference.  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  so  happy  as  to  understand  you  sir,  but  we  shall  not 
pay  seventy  cents  on  the  dollar." 

The  old  gentleman  got  up  and  stood  before  the  fire  with  his  back 
to  Mr.  Rossitur,  saying  "  that  was  rather  bad." 

"'  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

Mr.  Rossitur  hesitated  a  few  moments  for  an  answer  and  then 
said, 

"  Pay  the  seventy  cents  and  begin  the  world  anew  with  noth< 

"Tig." 

"  Of  course  !  "  said  the  doctor.  "  I  understand  that ;  but  where 
>nd  how  ?  What  end  of  the  world  will  you  take  up  first?  " 

Mr.  Rossitur  writhed  in  impatience  or  disgust,  and  after  agaia 
hesitating  answered  dryly  that  he  had  not  determined. 

"Have  you  thought  of  anything  in  particular?" 

"  Zounds  !  no  sir,  except  my  misfortune.  That's  enough  for  one 
day." 

"  And  too  much,"  said  the  old  doctor,  "  unless  you  can  mix 
s»me  other  thought  with  it.  That's  what  I  came  for.  Will  you 
go  into  business?  " 

Fleda  was  starred  by  the  vehemence  which  her  uncle  said  "  No, 
never !  " — and  he  presently  added,  "  I'll  do  nothing  here." 

'•'•Well, — well,"  said  the  doctor  to  himself; — "Will  you  go  into 
the  country  ?" 

"  Yes ! — anywhere  ! — the  further  the  better." 


i§4  QUEECHT. 

Mrs.  Rossitur  started,  but  her  husband's  face  did  not  encoui 
her  to  open  her  lips. 

"  Ay  but  on  a  farm,  I  mean?  " 

"On  anything,  that  will  give  me  a  standing." 

"  I  thought  that  too,"  said  Dr.  Gregory,  now  whirling  about.  "I 
have  a  fine  piece  of  land  that  wants  a  tenant.  You  may  take  it  at 
an  easy  rate,  and  pay  me  when  the  crops  come  in.  I  shouldn't 
expect  so  young  a  farmer,  you  know,  to  keep  any  closer  terms." 

"  How  far  is  it?  " 

"  Far  enough — up  in  Wyandot  County." 

"  How  large  ?  " 

"  A  matter  of  two  or  three  hundred  acres  or  so.  It  is  very  fine, 
they  say.  It  came  into  a  fellow's  hands  that  owed  me  what  I 
thought  was  a  bad  debt,  so  for  fear  he  would  never  pay  me  I 
thought  best  to  take  it  and  pay  him  ;  whether  the  place  will  ever  fill 
my  pockets  again  remains  to  be  seen  ;  doubtful,  I  think." 

"  I'll  take  it,  Dr.  Gregory,  and  see  if  I  cannot  bring  that  about." 

"  Pooh,  pooh  !  fill  your  own.  I  am  not  careful  about  it  ;  the  less 
money  one  has  the  more  it  jingles,  unless  it  gets  too  low  indeed." 

"  I  will  take  it,  Dr.  Gregory,  and  feel  myself  under  obligation  to 
you." 

"  No,  I  told  you,  not  till  the  crops  come  in.  No  obligation  is 
binding  till  the  term  is  up.  Well,  I'll  see  you  further  about  it." 

"  But  Rolf!  "  said  Mrs.  Rossitur, — "  stop  a  minute,  uncle,  don't 
go  yet, — Rolf  don't  know  anything  in  the  world  about  the  manage 
ment  of  a  farm,  neither  do  I." 

"The  'faire  Una'  can  enlighten  you,"  said  the  doctor,  waving 
his  hand  toward  his  little  favorite  in  the  corner, — "  but  I  forgot ! — 
Well,  if  you  don't  know,  the  crops  won't  come  in — that's  all  the 
difference." 

But  Mrs.  Rossitur  looked  anxiously  at  her  husband.  "  Do  you 
know  exactly  what  you  are  undertaking,  Rolf?"  she  said. 

"  If  I  do  not,  I  presume  I  shall  discover  in  time." 

"  But  it  may  be  too  late,"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur,  in  the  tone  of  sad 
remonstrance  that  had  gone  all  the  length  it  dared. 

"  It  can  not  be  too  late  !  "  said  her  husband  impatiently.  "  If  I 
do  not  know  what  I  am  taking  up,  I  know  very  well  what  I  am  lay 
ing  down  ;  and  it  does  not  signify  a  straw  what  comes  after — if  it 
was  a  snail-shell,  that  would  cover  my  head  !  " 

"Hum—"  said  the  old  doctor,— "  the  snail  is  very  well  in  his 
way,  but  I  have  no  idea  that  he  was  ever  cut  out  for  a  farmer.'' 

"  Do  you  think  you  will  find  it  a  business  you  would  like,  Mr. 
Rossitur?  "  said  his  wife  timidly. 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  he  facing  about,  "  it  is  not  a  question  of  lik 
ing.  I  will  like  anything  that  will  bury  me  out  of  the  world  !  " 

Poor  Mrs.  Rossitur.  She  had  not  yet  come  to  wishing  herself 
buried  alive,  and  she  had  small  faith  in  the  permanence  of  her 
kusband's  taste  for  it.  She  looked  desponding. 

"  You  don't  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Rossitur  stopping  again  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor  after  another  turn  and  a  half, — "  you  do  not 
suppose  that  I  am  going  to  take  the  laboring  of  the  farm  upon  my 
self?  I  shall  employ  some  one  of  course,  who  understands  thf 
natter,  to  take  all  that  off  my  hands." 


qUEECSY.  155 

The  doctor  thought  of  the  old  proverb  and  the  alternative  the 
plough  presents  to  those  who  would  thrive  by  it  ;  Fleda  thought  of 
Mr.  Didenhover  ;  Mrs.  Rossitur  would  fain  have  suggested  that 
such  an  important  person  must  be  well  paid  ;  but  neither  of  them 
spoke. 

"  Of  course/'  said  Mr.  Rossitur  haughtily  as  he  went  on  with  his 
walk,  "  I  do  not  expect  any  more  than  you  to  live  in  the  backwoods 
She  life  we  have  been  leading  here.  That  is  at  an  end," 

"  Is  it  a  very  wild  country  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Rossitur  of  the  doctor, 

11  No  wild  beasts,  my  dear,  if  that  is  your  meaning, — and  I  do 
rtot  suppose  there  are  even  many  snakes  left  by  this  time." 

"  No,  but  dear  uncle,  I  mean,  is  it  in  an  unsettled  state  ?'* 

"  No  my  dear,  not  at  all, — perfectly  quiet." 

"Ah  but,  do  not  play  with  me,"  exclaimed  poor  Mrs.  Rossitur 
between  laughing  and  crying  ; — "  I  mean  is  it  far  from  any  town 
and  not  among  neighbors  ?  " 

41  Far  enough  to  be  out  of  the  way  of  morning  calls,"  said  the 
doctor  ; — "  and  when  your  neighbors  come  to  see  you  they  will  ex 
pect  tea  by  four  o'clock.  There  are  not  a  great  many  near  by,  but 
they  don't  mind  coming  from  five  or  six  miles  off." 

Mrs.  Rossitur  looked  chilled  and  horrified.  To  her  he  had  de 
scribed  a  very  wild  country  indeed.  Fleda  would  have  laughed  if 
it  had  not  been  for  her  aunt's  face  ;  but  that  settled  down  in  a 
doubtful  anxious  look  that  pained  her.  It  pained  the  old  doctor 
too. 

"  Come,"  said  he  touching  her  pretty  chin  with  his  fore  finger, — • 
«'  what  are  you  thinking  of?  folks  may  be  good  folks  and  yet  have 
tea  at  four  o'clock,  mayn't  they  ?  " 

"  When  do  they  have  dinner  !  "  said  Mrs.  Rossitur. 

"  I  really  don't  know.  When  you  get  settled  up  there  I'll  come 
and  see." 

44  Hardly,"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur.  "  I  don't  believe  it  would  be 
possible  for  Emile  to  get  dinner  before  the  tea-time  ;  and  I  am  sure 
I  shouldn't  like  to  propose  such  a  thing  to  Mrs.  Renney." 

The  doctor  fidgeted  about  a  little  on  the  hearth-rug  and  looked 
comical,  perfectly  understood  by  one  acute  observer  in  the  corner.  • 

"Are  you  wise  enough  to  imagine,  Lucy,"  said  Mr.  Rossitur 
sternly,  "that  you  can  carry  your  whole  establishment  with  you? 
What  do  you  suppose  Emile  and  Mrs.  Renney  would  do  in  a  farm 
house  ? ' ' 

"  I  can  do  without  whatever  you  can,"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur 
meekly.  "  I  did  not  know  that  you  would  be  willing  to  part  with 
Emile,  and  I  do  not  think  Mrs.  Renney  would  like  to  leave  us." 

"  I  told  you  before,  it  is  no  more  a  question  of  liking,"  answered 
he. 

44  And  if  it  were,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  have  no  idea  that  Monsieur 
Emile  and  Madame  Renney  would  be  satisfied  with  the  style  of  a 
country  kitchen,  or  think  the  interior  of  Yankee  land  a  hopefuf 
sphere  for  their  energies." 

"  What  sort  of  a  house  is  it  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Rossitur. 

"  A  wooden  frame  house,  I  believe." 

••N«  but,  dear  uncle,  do  tell  me." 


IBfi  QVEECHY, 

"  What  sort  of  a  house  ? — Humph — Large  enough,  I  am  totfl.  It 
will  accommodate  you,  in  one  way." 

"  Comfortable  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  doctor  shaking  his  head  ; — "depends 
on  who's  in  it.  No  house  is  that  per  se.  But  I  reckon  there  isn't 
much  plate  glass.  I  suppose  you'll  find  the  doors  all  painted  blue, 
and  every  fireplace  with  a  crane  in  it." 

"  A  crane  !  "  said  Mrs.  Rossitur,  to  whose  imagination  the  word 
suggested  nothing  but  a  large  water-bird  with  a  long  neck. 

"Ay!  "  said  the  doctor.  "  But  it's  just  as  well.  You  won'fe 
want  hanging  lamps  there, — and  candelabra  would  hardly  be  in 
place  either,  to  hold  tallow  candles." 

"Tallow  candles!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Rossitur.  Her  husband 
winced,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Ay,"  said  the  doctor  again, — "  and  make  them  yourself  if  you 
are  a  good  housewife.  Come  Lucy,"  said  he  taking  her  hand,  "  do 
you  know  how  the  wild  fowl  do  on  the  Chesapeake  ? — duck  and 
swim  under  water  till  they  can  show  their  heads  with  safety? 
'Twon't  spoil  your  eyes  to  see  by  a  tallow  candle." 

Mrs.  Rossitur  half  smiled,  but  looked  anxiously  toward  he  hus 
band. 

*'  Pooh,  pooh  !  Rolf  won't  care  what  the  light  burns  that  lights 
him  to  independence, — and  when  you  get  there  you  may  illuminate 
with  a  whole  whale  if  you  like.  By  the  way,  Rolf,  there  is  a  fine 
water  power  up  yonder,  and  a  saw-mill  in  good  order,  they  tell  me, 
but  a  short  way  from  the  house.  Hugh  might  learn  to  manage  it, 
and  it  would  be  fine  employment  for  him." 

"  Hugh  !  "  said  his  mother  disconsolately.  Mr.  Rossitur  neither 
spoke  nor  looked  an  answer.  Fleda  sprang  forward. 

"  A  saw-mill ! — Uncle  Orrin! — where  is  it?  " 

11  Just  a  little  way  from  the  house,  they  say.  You  can't  manage 
it,  fair  Saxon! — though  you  look  as  if  you  would  undertake  all  the 
mills  in  creation,  for  a  trifle." 

"  No  but  the  place,  uncle  Orrin  ; — where  is  the  place  ?" 

"The  place?  Hum — why  it's  up  in  Wyandot  County — some 
five  or  six  miles  from  the  Montepoole  Spring — what's  this  they  call 
it? — Queechy  ! — By  the  way!"  said  he,  reading  Fleda's  counte 
nance,  "  it  is  the  very  place  where  your  father  was  born ! — it  is  \  \ 
didn't  think  of  that  before." 

Fleda's  hands  were  clasped. 

"O  I  am  very  glad  !  "  she  said.  "It's  my  old  home.  It  is  the 
most  lovely  place,  aunt  Lucy  ! — most  lovely — and  we  shall  have 
»ome  good  neighbors  there  too.  O  I  am  very  glad  ! — The  dear  old 
saw-mill ! — " 

"Dear  old  saw-mill!"  said  the  doctor  looking  at  her.  "Rolf, 
I'll  tell  you  what,  you  shall  give  me  this  girl.  I  want  her.  I  can 
take  better  care  of  her,  perhaps,  now  than  you  can.  Let  her  come 
to  me  when  you  leave  the  city — ;it  will  be  better  for  her  than  to  help 
work  the  saw-mill  ;  and  I  have  as  good  a  right  to  her  as  anybody, 
for  Amy  before  her  was  like  my  own  child." 

The  doctor  spoke  not  with  his  usual  light  jesting  manner  but  very 
seriously.  Hugh's  lips  parted, — Mrs.  Rossitur  looked  with  a  sad 


QUEECHY.  157 

thoughtful  look  at  Fleda.— Mr.  Rossitur  walked  up  and  down  look* 
ing  at  nobo'dy.     Fleda  watched  him. 

"What  does  Fleda  herself  say?"  said  he  stopping  short  sud 
denly.  His  face  softened  and  his  eye  changed  as  it  fell  upon  her, 
for  the  first  time  that  day.  Fleda  saw  her  opening  ;  she  came  to 
him,  within  his  arms,  and  laid  her  head  upon  his  breast. 

"  What  does  Fleda  say  ?  "  said  he,  softly  kissing  her. 

Fleda' s  tears  said  a  good  deal,  that  needed  no  interpreter.  She 
felt  her  uncle's  hand  passed  more  and  more  tenderly  over  her  head, 
so  tenderly  that  it  made  it  all  the  more  difficult  for  her  to  govern  her 
self  and  stop  her  tears.  But  she  did  stop  them,  and  looked  up  ai 
him  then  with  such  a  face — so  glowing  through  smiles  and  tears — 
it  was  like  a  very  rainbow  of  hope  upon  the  cloud  of  their  prospects* 
Mr.  Rossitur  felt  the  power  of  the  sunbeam  wand,  it  reached  his 
heart  ;  it  was  even  with  a  smile  that  he  said  as  he  looked  at  her, 

"  Will  you  go  to  your  uncle  Orrin,  Fleda?  " 

"  Not  if  Uncle  Rolf  will  keep  me." 

"Keep  you!"  said  Mr.  Rossitur; — "I  should  like  to  see  who 
wouldn't  keep  you  ! — There,  Dr.  Gregory,  you  have  your  answer." 

"Hum! — I  might  have  known,"  said  the  doctor,  "that  the 
•faire  Una'  would  abjure  cities. — Come  here,  you  Elf  !"• — and  he 
wrapped  her  in  his  arms  so  tight  she  could  not  stir,- — "I  have  a 
spite  against  you  for  this.  What  amends  will  you  make  me  for 
such  an  affront?" 

"  Let  me  take  breath,"  said  Fleda  laughing,  "  and  I'll  tell  you. 
You  don't  want  any  amends,  uncle  Orrin." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  gazing  with  more  feeling  than  he  cared  to  show 
into  that  sweet  face,  so  innocent  of  apology-making, — "you  shall 
promise  me  that  you  will  not  forget  uncle  Orrin  arid  the  old  house 
in  Bleecker  street." 

Fleda' s  eyes  grew  more  wistful. 

"  And  will  you  promise  me  that  if  ever  you  want  anything  you 
will  come  or  send  straight  there  ?  " 

"If  ever  I  want  anything  I  can't  get  nor  do  without,"  said 
Fleda. 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  the  doctor  letting  her  go,  but  laughing  at  the 
same  time.  "Mind  my  words,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rossitur  :— if  ever 
that  girl  takes  the  wrong  bit  in  her  mouth — Will,  well !  I'll  go 
home." 

Home  he  went.  The  rest  drew  together  particularly  near,  round 
the  tire  ;  Hugh  at  his  father's  shoulder,  and  Fleda  kreeling  on  the 
rug  between  her  uncle  and  aunt  with  a  hand  on  each  ;  and  there 
was  not  one  of  them  whose  gloom  was  not  lightened  by  her  bright 
face  and  cheerful  words  of  hope  that  in  the  new  scenes  they  were 
going  to  "  they  would  all  be  so  happy." 

The  days  that  followed  were  gloomy;  but  Fleda's  ministry  was 
unceasing.  Hugh  seconded  her  well,  though  more  passively. 
Feeling  less  pain  himself,  he  perhaps  for  that  very  reason  was  less 
acutely  alive  to  it  in  others ;  not  so  quick  to  foresee  and  ward  off, 
not  so  skilful  to  allay  it.  Fleda  seemed  to  have  intuition  for  the 
one  and  a  charm  for  the  other.  To  her  there  was  pain  in  every 
parting  ;  her  sympathies  clung  to  wnatever  wore  the  livery  of  habit. 
There  was  hardly  any  piece  of  furniture,  tnere  was  no  boek  or 


188  QUEECHY. 

marble  or  picture,  that  she  could  take  leave  of  without  a  pang, 
But  it  was  kept  to  herself ;  her  sorrowful  good-byes  were  said  in 
secret ;  before  others,  in  all  those  weeks,  she  was  a  very  Euphro- 
syne  ;  light,  bright,  cheerful,  of  eye  and  foot  and  hand  ;  a  shield 
between  her  aunt  and  every  annoyance  that  she  could  take  instead  ; 
a  good  little  fairy,  that  sent  her  sunbeam  wand,  quick  as  a  flash, 
where  any  eye  rested  gloomily.  People  did  not  always  find  out 
where  the  light  came  from,  but  it  was  her  witchery. 

Th*  creditors  would  touch  none  of  Mrs.  Rossitur's  things,  her 
husband's  honorable  behavior  had  been  so  thorough.  They  ever 
preserted  him  with  one  or  two  pictures  which  he  sold  for  a  consid- 
erable  sum  ;  and  to  Mrs.  Rossitur  they  gave  up  all  the  plate  in 
daily  use  ;  a  matter  of  great  rejoicing  to  Fleda  who  knew  well  how 
sorely  it  would  have  been  missed.  She  and  her  aunt  had  quite  a 
little  library  too,  of  their  own  private  store ;  a  little  one  it  was  in 
deed,  but  the  worth  of  every  volume  was  now  trebled  in  her  eyes. 
Their  furniture  was  all  left  behind  ;  and  in  its  stead  went  some  of 
neat  light  painted  wood  which  looked  to  FiJ[eda  deliciously  country - 
fied.  A  promising  cook  and  housemaid  were  engaged  to  go  with 
them  to  the  wilds ;  and  about  the  first  of  April  they  turned  their 
backs  upon  the  city. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

The  thresher's  weary  flingin-tree 

The  lee-lang  day  had  tired  me : 

And  whan  the  day  had  closed  his  e'et 

Far  i'  the  west, 
Ben  i'  the  spence,  right  pensivelie, 

I  'gaed  to  rest. 

BURNS. 

QUEECHY  was  reached  at  night.  Fleda  had  promised  herself  to 
be  off  almost  with  the  dawn  of  light  the  next  morning  to  see  aunt 
Miriam,  but  a  heavy  rain  kept  her  fast  at  home  the  whole  day.  It 
was  very  well ;  she  was  wanted  there. 

Despite  the  rain  and  her  disappointment  it  was  impossible  for 
Fleda  to  lie  abed  from  the  time  the  first  grey  light  began  to  break 
in  at  her  windows, — those  old  windows  that  'had  rattled  their  wel 
come  to  her  all  night.  She  was  up  and  dressed  and  had  had  a 
'ong  consultation  with  herself  over  matters  and  prospects,  before 
anybody  else  had  thought  of  leaving  the  indubitable  comfort  of  z. 
feather  bed  for  the  doubtful  contingency  of  happiness  that  awaited 
them  down  stairs.  Fleda  took  in  the  whole  length  and  breadth  of 
it*,  half  wittingly  and  half  through  some  finer  sense  than  that  of  the 
understanding. 

The  first  view  of  things  could  not  strike  them  pleasantly  ;  it  was 
not  to  be  looked  for.  The  doors  did  not  happen  to  be  painted 
blue  ;  they  were  a  deep  chocolate.color  ;  doors  and  wainscot.  The 
fireplaces  were  not  all  furnished  with  cranes,  but  they  were  all  un- 
couthy  wide  and  deep.  Nobody  would  have  thought  them  so  in 
deed  in  the  winter,  when  piled  up  with  blazing  hickory  5ogs,  but  in 
summer  they  yawned  uncomfortably  upon  the  eye.  The  ceilings 
were  low  ;  the  walte  rough  papered  or  rougher  white-washed  ;  the 


QUEECHY.  199 

sashes  not  hung  ;  the  rooms,  otherwise  well  enougri  proportioned, 
stuck  with  little  cupboards,  in  recesses  and  corners  and  out  of  the 
way  places,  in  a  style  impertinently  suggestive  of  housekeeping, 
and  fitted  to  shock  any  symmetrical  set  of  nerves.  The  old  house 
had  undergone  a  thorough  putting  in  order,  it  is  true  ;  the  chocolate 
paint  was  just  dry,  and  the  paper  hangings  freshly  put  up  ;  and  the 
bulk  of  the  new  furniture  had  been  sent  on  before  and  unpacked, 
though  not  a  single  article  of  it  was  in  its  right  place.  The  house 
was  clean  and  tight,  that  is,  as  tight  as  it  ever  was.  But  the  color 
had  been  unfortunately  chosen — perhaps  there  was  no  help  fo; 
that ; — the  paper  was  very  coarse  and  country fied  ;  the  big  windows 
were  startling  they  looked  so  bare,  without  any  manner  of  drapery  ; 
and  the  long  reaches  of  wall  were  unbroken  by  mirror  or  picture- 
frame.  And  this  to  eyes  trained  to  eschew  ungracefulness  and  that 
abhorred  a  vacuum  as  much  as  nature  is  said  to  do !  Even  Fleda 
felt  there  was  something  disagreeable  in  the  change,  though  it 
reached  her  more  through  the  channel  of  other  people's  sensitive 
ness  than  her  own.  To  her  it  was  the  dear  old  house  still,  though 
her  eyes  had  seen  better  things  since  they  loved  it.  No  corner  or 
recess  could  have  a  pleasanter  filling  to  her  fancy,  than  the  old 
brown  cupboard  or  shelves  which  had  always  been  there.  But 
what  would  her  uncle  say  to  them  !  and  to  that  dismal  paper!  and 
what  would  aunt  Lucy  think  of  those  rattling  window-sashes !  this 
cool  raw  day  too,  for  the  first ! — 

Think  as  she  might  Fleda  did  not  stand  still  to  think.  She  had 
gone  softly  all  over  the  house,  taking  a  strange  look  at  the  old 
places  and  the  images  with  which  memory  filled  them,  thinking  of 
the  last  time,  and  many  a  time  before  that  ; — and  she  had  at  last 
come  back  to  the  sitting-room,  long  before  anybody  else  was  down- 
stairs  ;  the  two  tired  servants  were  just  rubbing  their  eyes  open  in 
the  kitchen  and  speculating  themselves  awake.  Leaving  them,  at 
their  peril,  to  get  ready  a  decent  breakfast,  (by  the  way  she  grudged 
them  the  old  kitchen)  Fieda  set  about  trying  what  her  wand  could 
do  toward  brightening  the  face  of  affairs  in  the  other  part  of  the 
house.  It  was  quite  cold  enough  for  a  fire,  luckily.  She  ordered 
one  made,  and  meanwhile  busied  herself  with  the  various  stray 
packages  and  articles  of  wearing  apparel  that  lay  scattered  about 
giving  the  whole  place  a  look  of  discomfort.  P'leda  gathered 
them  up  and  bestowed  them  in  one  or  two  of  the  impertinent  cup 
boards,  and  then  undertook  the  labor  of  carrying  out  all  the  wrong 
furniture  that  had  got  into  the  breakfast-room  and  bringing  in  that 
which  really  belonged  there  from  the  hall  and  the  parlor  beyond  ; 
moving  like  a  mouse  that  she  might  not  .disturb  the  people  up-stairs. 
A  quarter  of  an  hour  was  spent  in  arranging  to  the  best  advantage 
these  various  pieces  of  furniture  in  the  room  ;  it  was  the  very  same 
in  which  Mr.  Carleton  and  Charlton  Rossitur  had  been  received  the. 
memorable  day  of  the  roast  pig  dinner,  but  that  was  not  the  upper 
most  association  in  Fleda's  mind.  Satisfied  at  last  that  a  happiev 
effect  could  not  be  produced  with  the  given  materials,  and  well 
pleased  too  with  her  success,  Fleda  turned  to  the  fire.  It  was  made, 
but  not  by  any  means  doing  its  part  to  encourage  the  other  portion* 
of  the  room  to  look  their  best.  Fleda  knew  something  of  wood 
ires  from  old  times  ;  she  laid  hold  of  the  tongs,  and  touched  and 


MS  QUEECHY. 

loosened  and  coaxed  a  stick  here  and  there,  witn  a  delicate  hand, 
till,  seeing  the  very  opening  it  had  wanted, — without  which  neithef 
fire  nor  hope  can  keep  its  activity, — the  blaze  sprang  up  energeti 
cally,  crackling  through  all  the  piled  oak  and  hickory  and  driving 
the  smoke  clean  out  of  sight.  Fleda  had  done  her  work.  It  would 
have  been  a  misanthropical  person  indeed  that  could  have  come 
into  the  room  then  and  not  felt  his  face  brighten.  One  other  thing 
remained, — setting  the  breakfast  table  ;  and  Fleda  would  let  no 
hands  but  hers  do  it  this  morning  ;  she  was  curious  about  the  setting 
3f  tables.  How  she  remembered  or  divined  where  everything  had 
(been  stowed  ;  how  quietly  and  efficiently  her  little  fingers  unfastened 
hampers  and  pried  into  baskets,  without  making  any  noise  ;  till 
all  the  breakfast  paraphernalia  of  silver,  china,  and  table-linen 
was  found,  gathered  from  various  receptacles,  and  laid  in  most  ex 
quisite  order  on  the  table.  State  street  never  saw  better.  Fleda 
stood  and  looked  at  it  then,  in  imznense  satisfaction,  seeing  that 
her  uncle's  eye  would  miss  nothing  of  its  accustomed  gratification. 
To  her  the  old  room,  shining  with  firelight  and  new  furniture,  was 
perfectly  charming.  If  those  great  windows  were  staringly  bright, 
health  and  cheerfulness  seemed  to  look  in  at  them.  And  what 
other  images  of  association,  with  "nods  and  becks  and  wreathed 
smiles,1 '  looked  at  her  out  of  the  curling  flames  in  the  old  wide 
fireplace  !  And  one  other  angel  stood  there  unseen, — the  one 
whose  errand  it  is  to  see  fulfilled  the  promise,  'Give  and  it  shall 
be  given  to  you  ;  full  measure,  and  pressed  down,  and  heaped  up, 
and  running  over." 

A  little  while  Fleda  sat  contentedly  eyeing  her  work  ;  then  a  new 
idea  struck  her  and  she  sprang  up.  In  the  next  meadow,  only  one 
fence  between,  a  little  spring  of  purest  water  ran  through  from  the 
woodland  ;  water  cresses  used  to  grow  there.  Uncle  Rolf  was  very 
fond  of  them.  It  was  pouring  with  rain,  but  no  matter.  Her 
heart  beating  between  haste  and  delight,  Fleda  slipped  her  feet  into 
galoches  and  put  an  old  cloak  of  Hugh's  over  her  head,  and  ran 
out  through  the  kitchen,  the  old  accustoried  way.  The  servants 
exclaimed  and  entreated,  but  Fieda  only  flashed  a  bright  look  at 
them  from  under  her  cloak  as  she  opened  the  door,  and  ran  off, 
Dver  the  wet  grass,  under  the  fence,  and  over  half  the  meadow, 
':ill  she  came  to  the  stream.  She  was  getting  a  delicious  taste  of  old 
.imes,  and  though  the  spring  water  was  very  cold  and  with  it  and 
jhe  rain  one  half  of  each  sleeve  was  soon  thoroughly  wetted,  she 
gathered  her  cresses  and  scampered  back  with  a  pair  of  eyes  and 
cheeks  that  might  have  struck  any  city  belle  chill  with  envy. 

••  Then  but  that's  a  sweet  girl !  "  said  Mary  the  cook  to  Jane  the 
housemaid. 

••A  lovely  countenance  she  has,"  answered  Jane,  who  was  re 
fined  in  her  speech. 

"  Take  her  away  and  you've  taken  the  best  of  the  house,  I'm  a 
thinking."1 

"  Mrs.  Rossitur  is  a  lady,"  said  Jane  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Ay,  and  a  very  proper-behaved  one  she  is,  and  him  the  same, 
that  is,  for  a  gentleman  I  mean  ;  but  Jane  !  I  say,  I'm  thinking 
de'll  have  eat  too  much  sour  bread  lately  !  I  wish  I  k; (lowed  bow 
tfcey  <*  have  Hieir  e;ggs  boiled,  tilt  I'd  have  'em  ready." 


OUEECHY.  1* 

••  Sure  it's  on  the  table  itself  they'll  do  'em./1  said  Jane.    "  They'.,  e 

an  elegant  little  fixture  in  there  for  the  purpose." 

"  Is  that  it !  " 

Nobody  found  out  how  busy  Fleda  s  wand  had  been  in  the  old 
breakfast  room.  But  she  was  not  disappointed ;  she  had  not  worked 
for  praise.  Her  cresses  were  appreciated  ;  that  wac  enough.  She 
enjoyed  her  breakfast,  the  only"  one  of  the  party  that  did.  Mr. 
Rossitur  looked  moody  ;  his  wife  looked  anxious  and  Hugh's 
face  was  the  reflection  of  theirs.  It  Fleda's  face  reflected  anything 
;t  was  the  sunlight  of  heaven. 

"  How  sweet  the  air  is  after  New  York  !  "  said  she. 

They  looked  at  her.  There  was  a  fresh  sweetness  of  another 
kind  about  that  breakfast-table.  They  all  felt  it,  and  breathed 
more  freely. 

"  Delicious  cresses  !  "  said  Mrs.  Rossitur. 

"Yes,  I  wonder  where  they  came  from,"  said  her  husband. 
"Who  got  them?" 

'•'  I  guess  Fleda  knows,"  said  Hugh. 

"They  grow  in  a  little  stream  of  spring  water  over  here  in  tht 
tneadow,"  said  Fleda  demurely. 

"Yes,  but  you  don't  answer  my  question,"  said  her  uncle,  put 
ting  his  hand  under  her  chin  and  smiling  at  the  blushing  face  he 
brought  round  to  view  ;  "  Who  got  them  ?  " 

"I  did." 

"  You  have  been  out  in  the  rain  ?  " 

"  O  Queechy  rain  don't  hurt  me,  uncle  RdC" 

"  And  don't  it  wet  you  either  ?  " 

"Yes  sir — a  little." 

"  How  much?" 

"  My  sleeves, — O  I  «ried  them  long  ago." 

"  Don't  you  repeat  that  experiment,  Fleda,"  said  he  seriously, 
but  with  a  1-cok  that  was  a  good  reward  to  her  nevertheless. 

"  It  is  a  raw  day!"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur,  drawing  her  shoulders 
together  as  an  ill-disposed  window  sash  gave  one  of  its  admonitory 
shakes. 

Cl  What  little  panes  of  glass  for  such  big  windows!  "  said  Hugh. 

"But  whac  a  pleasant  prospect  through  them,"  said  Fleda,—* 
"  look,  Hugh  ! — worth  all  the  Batteries  and  Parks  in  the.  world." 

"  In  the  world  ! — in  New  York  you  mean,"  said  her  uncle-  "  Nc*t 
better  than  the  Champs  Elysees  !  " 

"Better  to  me,"  said  Fleda. 

"  For  to-day  I  must  attend  to  the  prospect  in-doors,"  said  Mrs. 
Rossitur. 

"Now  aunt  Lucy,"  said  Fleda,  "you  are  just  going  to  put 
yourself  down  in  the  corner,  in  the  rocking-chair  there,  with  your 
book,  and  make  yourself  comfortable  ;  and  Hugh  and  I  will  see  to 
all  these  things.  Hugh  and  I  and  Mary  and  Jane, — that  makes 
quite  an  army  of  us,  and  we  can  do  everything  without  you,  and 
you  must  just  keep  quiet.  I'll  build  you  up  a  fine  fire,  and  then 
when  I  don't  know  what  to  do  I  will  come  to  you  for  orders.  UnrJe 
Rolf,  would  you  be  so  good  as  just  to  open  that  box  of  hooks  in  the 
hall?  because  I  am  afraid  Hugh  isn't  strong  enough.  J  II take  care 
of  you,  aunt  Lucy." 
11 


Flcda's  plans  were  not  entirely  carried  out,  but  she  contrived 
pretty  well  to  take  the  brunt  of  the  business  on  her  own  shoulders. 
She  was  as  busy  as  a  bee  the  whole  day.  To  her  all  the  ins  and 
outs  of  the  house,  its  advantages  and  disadvantages,  were  much 
better  known  than  to  anybody  else  ;  nothing  could  be  done  but  by 
her  advice  ;  and  more  than  that,  she  contrived  by  some  sweet 
management  to  baffle  Mrs.  Rossitur's  desire  to  spare  her,  and  to 
bear  the  larger  half  of  every  burden  that  should  have  come  upon 
her  aunt.  What  she  had  done  in  the  breakfast  room  she  did  or 
helped  to  do  in  the  other  parts  of  the  house  ;  she  unpacked  boxes 
and  put  away  clothes  and  linen,  in  which  Hugh  was  her  excellent 
helper;  she  arranged  her  uncle's  dressing-table  with  a  scrupulosity 
that  left  nothing  uncared-for  ; — and  the  last  thing  before  tea  she 
and  Hugh  dived  into  the  book-box  to  get  out  some  favorite  vol 
umes  to  lay  upon  the  table  in  the  evening,  that  the  room  might 
not  look  to  her  uncle  quite  so  dismally  bare.  He  had  been  abroad 
notwithstanding  the  rain  near  the  whole  day. 

It  was  a  weary  party  that  gathered  round  the  supper-table  that 
night,  weary  it  seemed  as  much  in  mind  as  in  body  ;  and  the  meal 
exerted  its  cheering  influence  over  only  two  of  them  ;  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Rossitur  sipped  their  cups  of  tea  abstractedly. 

"  I  don't  believe  that  fellow  Donohan  knows  much  about  his 
business,"  remarked  the  former  at  length. 

"  Why  don't  you  get  somebody  else,  then  ?  "  said  his  wife. 

"  I  happen  to  have  engaged  him,  unfortunately." 

A  pause. 

"  What  doesn't  he  know  ?  " 

Mr.  Rossitur  laughed,  not  a  pleasant  laugh. 

"  It  would  take  too  long  to  enumerate.  If  you  had  asked  me 
what  part  of  his  business  he  does  understand,  I  could  have  told  you 
shortly  that  I  don't  know." 

"  But  you  do  not  understand  it  very  well  yourself.  Are  you 
sure  ? ' ' 

"  Am  I  sure  of  what? " 

•'That  this  man  does  not  know  his  business  ?  " 

"  No  further  sure  than  I  can  have  confidence  in  my  own  common 
sense." 

11  What  will  you  do?"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur  after  a  moment. 

A  question  men  are  not  fond  of  answering,  especially  when  the* 
have  not  made  up  their  minds.  Mr.  Rossitur  was  silent,  and  hi 
wife  too,  after  that. 

"  If  I  could  get  some  long-headed  Yankee  to  go  along  with  him''' 
— he  remarked  again,  balancing  his  spoon  on  the  edge  of  his  cup 
in  curious  illustration  of  his  own  mental  position  at  the  moment ; 
Donohan  being  the  only  fixed  point  and  all  the  rest  wavering  in  un- 
certair.ty.  There  were  a  few  silent  minutes  before  anybody  an 
swered. 

"  If  you  want  one  and  don't  know  of  one,  uncle  Rolf,"  said 
Fleda,  "  I  dare  say  cousin  Seth  might." 

That  gentle  modest  speech  brought  his  attention  round  upon  her. 
His  face  softened. 

"  Cousin  Seth  ?  who  is  cousin  Seth  ?  " 

"  fi$  is  aunt  Miriam's  son,"  said  Fleda.     "  Seth  Plumfield.  He** 


QUEECHY.  163 

a  very  good  farmer,  I  know  ;  grandpa  used  to  say  he  was  ;  and  h* 
knows  everybody." 

"Mrs.  Plumfield,"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur,  as  her  husband's  eyes 
went  inquiringly  to  her, — "Mrs.  Plumfleld  was  Mr.  Ringgan's  sis 
ter,  you  remember.  This  is  her  son." 

"Cousin  Seth,  eh?"  said  Mr.  Rossitur  dubiously.  "Well — 
Why  Fleda,  your  sweet  air  don't  seem  to  agree  with  you,  as  far  as 
i  see  ;  I  have  not  known  you  look  so — so  triste — since  we  left  Paris. 
What  have  you  been  doing,  my  child  ?  " 

"She  has  been  doing  everything,  father,"  said  Hugh. 

"O!  it's  nothing,"  said  Fleda,  answering  Mr.  Rossitur 's  look  and 
lone  of  affection  with  a  bright  smile.  "  I'm  a  little  tired,  that's  all.'* 

'  A  little  tired  !  '  She  went  to  sleep  on  the  sofa  directly  after  sup 
per  and  slept  like  a  baby  all  the  evening  ;  but  her  power  did  not 
sleep  with  her ;  for  that  quiet,  sweet,  tired  face,  tired  in  their  serv 
ice,  seemed  to  bear  witness  against  the  indulgence  of  anything 
harsh  or  unlovely  in  the  same  atmosphere.  A  gentle  witness-bear 
ing,  but  strong  in  its  gentleness.  They  sat  close  together  round 
the  fire,  talked  softly,  and  from  time  to  time  cast  loving  glances  at 
the  quiet  little  sleeper  by  their  side.  They  did  not  know  that  she 
was  a  fairy,  and  that  though  her  wand  had  fallen  out  on  her  hand 
it  was  still  resting  upon  them. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Con.     Here  is  everything  advantageous  to  life. 
Ant.     True ;  save  means  to  Iwe. 

TEMPEST. 

FLEDA'S  fatigue  did  not  prevent  her  being  up  before  sunrise  the 
next  day.  Fatigue  was  forgotten,  for  the  light  of  a  fair  spring 
morning  was  shining  in  at  her  windows  and  she  meant  to  see  aunt 
Miriam  before  breakfast.  She  ran  out  to  find  Hugh,  and  her  merry 
shout  reached  him  before  she  did,  and  brought  him  to  meet  her. 

"  Come,  Hugh  ! — I'm  going  off  up  to  Hunt  Miriam's,  and  I  want 
you.  Come  !  Isn't  this  delicious  ?  " 

"Hush! — "  said  Hugh.  "  Father's  just  here  in  the  barn.  I 
can't  go,  Fleda." 

Fleda's  countenance  clouded. 

"Can't  go  !  what's  the  matter? — can't  you  go,  Hugh?" 

He  shook  his  head  and  went  off  into  the  barn. 

A  chill  came  upon  Fleda.  She  turned  away  with  a  very  sober 
step.  What  if  her  uncle  was  in  the  barn,  why  should  she  hush? 
He  never  had  been  a  check  upon  her  merriment,  never ;  what  was 
coming  now  ?  Hugh  too  looked  disturbed.  It  was  a  spring  morn 
ing  no  longer.  Fleda  forgot  the  glittering  wet  grass  that  had  set 
her  own  eyes  a  sparkling  but  a  minute  ago  ;  she  walked  along, 
cogitating,  swinging  her  bonnet  by  the  strings  m  thoughtful  vibra 
tion, — till  by  the  help  of  sunlight  and  sweet  air,  and  the  loved 
scenes,  her  spirits  again  made  head  and  swept  over  the  sudden 
hindrance  they  had  met.  There  were  the  blessed  old  sugar  maples, 
9even  in  number,  that  fringed  the  side  of  the  road, — how  well  Fleda 
'cnew  them.  Only  skeletons  now,  but  she  remembered  how  beau- 


164  QUEECHY. 

tiful  they  looked  after  the  October  frosts  ;  and  presently  they  would 
be  putting  out  their  new  green  leaves  and  be  beautiful  in  anothe* 
way.  How  different  in  their  free-born  luxuriance  from  the  dusty 
and  city-prisoned  elms  and  willows  she  had  left.  She  came  to  the 
bridge  then,  and  stopped  with  a  thrill  of  pleasure  and  pain  to  look 
and  listen.  Unchanged  ! — all  but  herself.  The  mill  was  not  going  ; 
the  little  brook  went  by  quietly  chattering  to  itself,  just  as  it  had 
done  the  last  time  she  saw  it,  when  she  rode  past  on  Mr.  Carleton's 
horse.  Four  and  a  half  years  ago  ! — And  now  how  strange  that  slip 
had  come  to  live  there  again. 

Drawing  a  long  breath,  and  swinging  her  bonnet  again,  Fled* 
softly  went  on  up  the  hill ;  past  the  saw-mill,  the  ponds,  the  factor 
ies,  the  houses  of  the  settlement.  The  same,  and  not  the  same  ! — 
Bright  was  the  morning  sun,  and  yet  somehow  a  little  browner  and 
homelier  than  of  old  they  used  to  be.  Fleda  did  not  care  for  that ; 
she  would  hardly  acknowledge  it  to  herself;  her  affection  never 
made  any  discount  for  infirmity.  Leaving  the  little  settlement  be 
hind  her  thoughts  as  behind  her  back,  she  ran  on  now  toward  aunt 
Miriam's  breathlessly,  till  field  after  field  was  past  and  her  eye 
caught  a  bit  of  tjie  smooth  lake  and  the  old  farmhouse  in  its  old 
place.  Very  brown  it  looked,  but  Fleda  dashed  on,  through  the 
garden  and  in  at  the  front  door. 

Nobody  at  all  was  in  the  entrance-room,  the  common  sitting-room 
of  the  family.  With  trembling  delight  Fleda  opened  the  well-known 
door  and  stole  ndiselessly  through  the  little  passage-way  to  the 
kitchen.  The  door  of  that  was  only  on  the  latch  and  a  gentle 
movement  of  it  gave  to  Fleda' s  eye  the  tall  figure  of  aunt  Miriam, 
just  before  her,  stooping  down  to  look  in  at  the  open  mouth  of  the 
oven  which  she  was  at  that  moment  engaged  in  supplying  with  more 
work  to  do.  It  was  a  huge  one,  and  beyond  he  aunt's  head  Fleda 
could  seen  in  the  far  end  the  great  loaves  of  bread,  half  bakp-d,  and 
more  near  a  perfect  squad  of  pies  and  pans  of  gingerbread  j^ist  go 
ing  in  to  take  the  benefit  of  the  oven's  milder  mood.  Fleda  saw  all 
this  as  it  were  without  seeing  it ;  she  stood  still  as  a  mou  e  and 
breathless  till  her  aunt  turned  ;  and  then,  a  spring  and  a  half  shouj 
of  joy,  and  she  had  clasped  her  in  her  arms  and  was  cryins  witlr 
her  whole  heart.  Aunt  Miriam  was  taken  all  aback  ;  she  covld  dc 
nothing  but  sit  down  and  cry  too  and  forgot  her  oven  door. 

"  Ain't  breakfast  ready  yet,  mother?"  said  a  manly -voice  coming 
In,  "I  must  be  off  to  see  after  them  ploughs.  Hollo! — why 
mother ! — " 

The  first  exclamation  was  uttered  as  the  speaker  put  the  door  to 
the  oven's  mouth  ;^:he  second  as  he  turned  in  quest  of  the  hand 
that  should  have  done  it.  He  stood  wondering,  while  his  mother 
and  Fleda  between  laughing^and  crying  tried  to  rouse  themselves 
and  look  up. 

"What  is  all  this?" 

"  Don't  you  see.^eth  ?  " 

"I  see  somebody  that  had  like  to  have  spoiled  your  whole  baking 
—I  don't  know  who  it  is,  yet." 

"Don't  you  now,  cousin  Seth?"  said  Fleda  shaking  away  her 
tears  and  getting  up. 

"I  ha'n't  quite  lost  my  recollection.     Cousin,  you  must  give  me 


165 

a  kiss. — How  do  you  do?,  You  ha'n't  forgot  how  to  color,  I  see, 
for  all  you've  been  so  long  among  the  pale  city-folks." 

"  1  haven't  forgotten  any  thing,  cousin  Seth,"  said  Fleda,  blush 
ing  indeed  but  laughing  and  shaking  his  hand  with  as  hearty  good 
will. 

"I  don't  believe  you  have, — anything  that  is  good,"  said  he. 
:<  Where  have  you  been  all  this  while  ?  " 

"  O  part  of  the  time  in  New  York,  and  part  of  the  time  in  Parii, 
and  some  other  places." 

••  Well  you  ha'n't  seen  anything  better  than  Queechy,  or  Queechy 
'.oread  and  butter,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Nc  indeed  !  " 

"  Come,  you  shall  give  me  another  kiss  for  that,"  said  he,  suiting 
the  action  to  the  word  ; — "  and  now  sit  down  and  eat  as  much  bread 
and  butter  as  you  can.  It's  just  as  good  as  it  used  to  be.  Come 
mother  ! — I  guess  breakfast  is  ready  by  the  looks  of  that  coffee 
pot." 

"  Breakfast  ready  !  "  said  Fleda. 

"  Ay  indeed  ;  it's  a  good  half  hour  since  it  ought  to  ha*  been 
ready.  If  it  ain't  I  can't  stop  for  it.  Them  boys  will  be  running 
their  furrows  like  sarpents  if  I  ain't  there  to  start  them." 

"  Which  like  serpents,"  said  Fleda, — "  the  furrows  or  the  men  ? '" 

"  Well,  I  was  thinking  of  the  furrows,"  said  he  glancing  at  her  ; 
— "  I  guess  there  ain't  cunning  enough  in  the  others  to  trouble  them. 
Come  sit  down,  and  let  me  see  whether  you  have  forgot  a  Queechy 
appetite." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Fleda  doubtfully, — "  they  will  expect  me 
at  home." 

"  I  don't  care  who  expects  you — sit  down  !  you  ain't  going  to  eat 
any  bread  and  butter  this  morning  but  my  mother's— you  haven't 
got  any  like  it  at  your  house.  Mother,  give  her  a  cup  of  coffee, 
will  you,  and  set  her  to  work." 

Fleda  was  to  willing  to  comply  with  the  invitation,  were  it  only 
for  the  charm  of  old  times.  She  had  not  seen  such  a  table  for 
years,  and  little  as  the  conventionalities  of  delicate  taste  were  known 
there,  it  was  not  without  a  comeliness  of  its  own  in  its  air  of  whole 
some  abundance  and  the  extreme  purity  of  all  its  arrangements.  If 
but  a  piece  of  cold  pork  were  on  aunt  Miriam's  table,  it  was  served 
with  a  nicety  that  would  not  have  offended  the  most  fastidious  ;  and 
amid  irregularities  that  the  fastidious  would  scorn,  there  was  a  sound 
excellence  of  material  and  preparation  that  they  very  often  fail  to 
know.  Fleda  made  up  her  mind  she  would  be  wanted  at  home  ; 
all  the  rather  perhaps  for  Hugh's  mysterious  "hush;"  and  there 
•was  something  in  the  hearty  kindness  and  truth  of  these  friends  that 
she  felt  particularly  genial.  And  if  there  was  a  lack  of  silver  at 
the  board  its  place  was  more  than  filled  with  t>he  pure  goid  of  asso 
ciation.  They  sat  down  to  table,  but  aunt  Miriam's  eyes  devoured 
Fleda.  Mr.  Plumfield  set  about  his  more  material  breakfast  with 
all  dispatch. 

"  So  Mr.  Rossitur  has  left  the  city  for  good,"  said  aunt  Miriam. 
•'  How  does  he  like  it  ?  " 

"  He  hasn't  been  here  but  a  day,  you  know,  aunt  Miriam,"  said 
Fleda  evasively.  ' 


166  QUEECHY. 

"  Is  he  anything  of  a  farmer  ?  "  asked  her  cousin. 

"  Not  much,"  said  Fleda. 

"  Is  he  going  to  work  the  farm  himself?  " 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean,  is  he  going  to  work  the  farm  himself,  or  hire  it  out,  of 
let  somebody  else  work  it  on  shares?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Fleda  ; — "  I  think  he  is  going  to  hav«  a 
farmer  and  oversee  things  himself." 

"  He'll  get  sick  o'  that,"  said  Seth  ;  "  unless  he's  the  luck  to  get 
iiold  of  just  the  right  hand." 

"  Has  he  hired  anybody  yet?  "  said  aunt  Miriam,  after  a  little  in« 
ierval  of  supplying  Fleda  with  '  bread  and  butter.' 

"  Yes  ma'am,  1  believe  so." 

• '  What' s  his  name  ?  ' ' 

"  Donohan, — an  Irishman,  I  believe  ;  uncle  Rolf  hired  him  in 
New  York." 

"  For  his  head  man?"  said  Seth,  with  a  sufficiently  intelligible 
look. 

"Yes,"  said  Fleda.     "Why?" 

But  he  did  not  immediately  answer  her. 

"  The  land's  in  poor  heart  now,"  said  he,  "a  good  deal  of  it ;  it 
has  been  wasted  ;  it  wants  first-rate  management  to  bring  it  in  order 
and  make  much  of  it  for  two  or  three  years  to  come.  I  never  see 
an  Irishman's  head  yet  that  was  worth  more  than  a  joke.  Their 
hands  are  all  of  'em  that's  good  for  anything." 

"  I  believe  uncle  Rolf  wants  to  have  an  American  to  go  with  this 
man,"  said  Fleda. 

Seth  said  nothing,  but  Fleda  understood  the  shake  of  his  head  as 
he  reached  over  after  a  pickle. 

"  Are  you  going  to  keep  a  dairy,  Fleda?  "  said  her  aunt. 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am  ; — I  haven't  heard  anything  about  it." 

"  Does  Mrs.  Rossitur  know  anything  about  country  affairs?  " 

"No — nothing,"  Fleda  said,  her  heart  sinking  perceptibly  with 
every  new  question. 

"  She  hasn't  any  cows  yet  ?  " 

.SVk/— any  cows !— But  Fleda  only  said  they  had  not  come  ;  she 
Relieved  they  were  coming. 

"  What  help  has  she  got  ?  " 

"Two  women — Irishwomen,"  said  Fleda. 

"Mother  you'll  have  to  take  hold  and  learn  her,"  said  Mr. 
Plumfield. 

"Teach  her?"  cried  Fleda,  repelling  the  idea  ;—"  aunt  Lucy  ? 
she  cannot  do  anything — she  isn't  strong  enough  ; — not  anything  of 
that  kind." 

"  What  did  she  come  here  for?  "  said  Seth. 

"You  know,"  said  his  mother,, "  that  Mr.  Rossitur' s  circum 
stances  obliged  him  to  quit  New  York." 

"Ay,  but  that  ain't  my  question.  A  man  had  better  keep  his 
fingers  off  anything  he  can't  live  by.  A  farm's  one  thing  or  t'other, 
just  as  it's  worked.  The  land  won't  grow  specie — it  must  be  fetched 
out  of  it.  Is  Mr.  Rossitur  a  smart  man?  " 

•'Very,"  Fleda  said,  "  about  everything  but  farming." 

••  Well  if  he'll  out  himself  to  school  may  be  he'll  learn."  SeOl 


QUEECHY.  167 

Concluded  as  he  finished  his  breakfast  and  went  off.  Fleda  rose 
too,  and  was  standing  thoughtfully  by  the  fire,  when  aunt  Miriam 
came  up  and  put  her  arms  round  her.  Fleda's  eyes  sparkled  again. 

"You're  not  changed— you're  the  same  little  Fleda,"  she  said. 

"  Not  quite  so  little,"  said  Fleda  smiling. 

"  Not  quite  so  little,  but  my  own  darling.  The  world  hasn't 
i polled  thee  yet." 

"  I  hope  not,  aunt  Miriam." 

"  You  have  remembered  your  mother's  prayer,  Fleda?" 

"Always  !  " 

How  tenderly  aunt  Miriam's  hand  was  passed  over  the  bowed 
head,— how  fondly  she  pressed  her.  And  Fleda's  answer  was  as 
fond. 

"  I  wanted  to  bring  Hugh  up  to  see  you,  aunt  Miriam,  with  me. 
but  he  couldn't  come.  You  will  like  Hugh.  He  is  so  good  !" 

"  I  will  come  down  and  see  him,"  said  aunt  Miriam  ;  and  then 
she  went  to  look  after  her  oven's  doings.  Fleda  stood  by,  amused 
to  see  the  quantities  of  nice  things  that  were  rummaged  out  of  it. 
They  did  not  look  like  Mrs.  Renney's  work,  but  she  knew  from  old 
experience  that  they  were  good. 

"How  early  you  must  have  been  up,  to  put  these  things  in,"  said 
Fleda. 

"  Put  them  in!  yes,  and  make  them.  These  were  all  made  this 
morning,  Fleda." 

"  This  morning  !— before  breakfast !  Why  the  sun  was  only  just 
rising  when  I  set  out  to  come  up  the  hill  ;  and  I  wasn't  long  com 
ing,  aunt  Miriam." 

"To  be  sure  ;  that's  the  way  to  get  things  done.  Before  break 
fast  ! — What  time  do  you  breakfast,  Fleda  ?  " 

"  Not  till  eight  or  nine  o'clock." 

"  Eight  or  nine  ! — Here  f  " 

"  There  hasn't  been  any  change  made  yet,  and  I  don't  suppose 
there  will  be.  Uncle  Rolf  is  always  up  early,  but  he  can't  bear  to 
have  breakfast  early." 

Aunt  Miriam's  face  showed  what  she  thought ;  and  Fleda  went 
away  with  all  its  gravity  and  doubt  settled  like  lead  upon  her  heart. 
Though  she  had  one  of  the  identical  apple  pies  in  her  hands, 
which  aunt  Miriam  had  quietly  said  was  "  for  her  and  Hugh," 
and  though  a  pleasant  savor  of  old  times  was  about  it,  Fleda  could 
not  get  up  again  the  bright  feeling  with  which  she  had  come  up 
the  hill.  There  was  a  miserable  misgiving  at  heart.  It  would 
work  off  in  time. 

It  had  begun  to  work  off,  when  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  she  met 
her  uncle.  He  was  coming  after  her  to  ask  Mr.  Plum  field  about 
the  desideratum  of  a  Yankee.  Fleda  put  her  pie  in  safety  behind 
a  rock,  and  turned  back  with  him,  and  aunt  Miriam  told  them  the 
way  to  Seth's  ploughing  ground. 

A  pleasant  word  or  two  had  set  Fleda's  spirits  a  bounding  again, 
and  the  walk  was  delightful.  Truly  the  leaves  were  not  on  the 
trees,  but  it  was  April,  and  they  soon  would  be  ;  there  was  promise 
in  the  light,  and  hope  in  the  air,  and  everything  smelt  of  the  coun 
try  and  spring-time.  The  soft  tread  of  the  sod,  that  her  foot  had 
not  felt  for  so  long,— the  fresh  look  of  the  newly-turned  earth,— 


168  QUEECHY. 

here  and  there  the  brilliance  of  a  field  of  winter  grain, — and  that 
nameless  beauty  of  the  budding  trees,  that  the  full  luxuriance  of 
summer  can  never  equal, — Fleda's  heart  was  springing  for  sym 
pathy.  And  to  her,  with  whom  association  was  everywhere  so 
strong,  there  was  in  it  all  a  shadowy  presence  of  her  grandfather, 
with  whom  she  had  so  often  seen  the  spring-time  bless  those  same 
hills  and  fields  long  ago.  She  walked  on  in  silence,  as  her  manner 
commonly  was  when  deeply  pleased  ;  there  were  hardly  two  per 
sons  to  whom  she  would  speak  her  mind  freely  then.  Mr.  Rossitur 
had  his  own  thoughts. 

"Can  anything  equal  the  spring-time!"  she  burst  forth  at 
length. 

Her  uncle  looked  at  her  and  smiled.     "  Perhaps  not ;  but  it  is 
one  thing,"  said  he  sighing,  "  for  taste  to  enjoy  and  another  thing 
for  calculation  to  improve." 
-"  But  one  can  do  both,  can't  one  ?  "  said  Fleda  brightly. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  he  sighing  again.     "  Hardly." 

Fleda  knew  he  was  mistaken  and  thought  the  sighs  out  of  place. 
But  they  reached  her  ;  and  she  had  hardly  condemned  them  before 
they  set  her  off  upon  a  long  train  of*  excuses  for  him,  and  she  had 
wrought  herself  into  quite  a  fit  of  tenderness  by  the  time  they 
reached  her  cousin. 

They  found  him  on  a  gentle  side-hill,  with  two  other  men  and 
teams,  both  of  whom  were  stepping  away  in  different  parts  of  the 
field.  Mr.  Plumfield  was  just  about  setting  off  to  work  his  way  to 
the  other  side  of  the  lot  when  they  came  up  with  him. 

Fleda  was  not  ashamed  of  her  aunt  Miriam's  son,  even  before 
such  critical  eyes  as  those  of  her  uncle.  Farmer-like  as  were  his 
dress  and  air,  they  showed  him  nevertheless  a  well-built,  fine-look 
ing  man,  with  the  independent  bearing  of  one  who  has  never  recog 
nized  any  but  mental  or  moral  superiority.  His  face  might  have 
been  called  handsome  ;  there  was  at  least  manliness  in  every  line 
of  it ;  and  his  excellent  dark  eye  showed  an  equal  mingling  of  kind 
ness  and  acute  common  sense.  Let  Mr.  Plumfield  wear  what 
clothes  he  would  one  felt  obliged  to  follow  Burns'  notable  example 
and  pay  respect  to  the  man  that  was  in  them. 

"A  fine  day,  sir,"  he  remarked  to  Mr.  Rossitur  after  they  had 
shaken  hands. 

"Yes,  and  I  will  not  interrupt  you  but  a  minute.  Mr.  Plumfield, 
I  am  in  want  of  hands, — hands  for  this  very  business  you  are  about, 
ploughing, — and  Fleda  says  you  know  everybody  ;  so  I  have  come 
to  ask  if  you  can  direct  me." 

"  Heads  or  hands,  do  you  want?"  said  Seth,  clearing  his  boot- 
sole  from  some  superfluous  soil  upon  the  share  of  his  plough. 

"  Why  both,  to  tell  you  the  truth.  I  want  hands,  and  teams,  for 
that  matter,  for  I  have  only  two,  and  I  suppose  there  is  no  time  to 
be  lost.  And  I  want  very  much  to  get  a  person  thoroughly  ac 
quainted  with  the  business  to  gb  along  with  my  man.  He  is  an  Ir 
ishman,  and  I  am  afrzfd  not  very  well  accustomed  to  the  ways  of 
doing  things  here." 

"Like  enough,"  said  Seth  ; — "and  the  worst  of  'em  is  you  can't 
learn  'em." 

"  Well !— can  you  help  me  ?  " 


QUEECHY.  169 

"  Mr.  Douglass!  " — said  Seth,  raising  his  voice  to  speak  to  one 
of  his  assistants  who  was  approaching  them, — "Mr.  Douglass! — 
you're  holding  that  'ere  plough  a  little  too  obleeKly  for  my  grounds. IC 

"Very  good,  Mr.  Plumfield !  "  said  the  person  called  upon,  with 
a  quick  accent  that  intimated,  "  If  you  don't  know  what  is  best  it  is 
not  my  affair !  " — the  voice  very  peculiar,  seeming  to  come  from  no 
lower  than  the  top  of  his  throat,  with  a  guttural  roll  of  the  words. 

"  Is  that  Earl  Douglass?"  said  Fleda. 

"You  remember  him?"  said  her  cousin  smiling.  "He's  just 
where  he  was,  and  his  wife  too. — Well  Mr.  Rossitur,  'tain't  very 
easy  to  find  what  you  want  just  at  this  season,  when  most  folks 
have  their  hands  full  and  help  is  all  taken  up.  I'll  see  if  I  can't 
come  down  and  give  you  a  lift  myself  with  the  ploughing,  for  a  day 
or  two,  as  I'm  pretty  beforehand  with  the  spring,  but  you'll  want 
more  than  that.  I  ain't  sure — I  haven't  more  hands  than  I'll  want 
myself,  but  I  think  it  is  possible  Squire  Springer  may  spare  you  one 
of  hisn.  He  ain't  taking  in  any  new  land  this  year,  and  he's  got 
things  pretty  snug3;  I  guess  he  don't  care  to  do  any  more  than  com 
mon — anyhow  you  might  try.  You  know  where  uncle  Joshua  lives, 
Fleda  ?  Well  Philetus— what  now  ?  ' ' 

They  had  been  slowly  walking  along  the  fence  toward  the  furth 
est  of  Mr.  Plumfield's  coadjutors,  upon  whom  his  eye  had  been 
curiously  fixed  as  he  was  speaking  ;  a  young  man  who  was  an  ex 
cellent  sample  of  what  is  called  "  the  raw  material."  He  had  just 
come  to  a  sudden  stop  in  the  midst  of  the  furrow  when  his  employer 
called  to  him  ;  and  he  answered  somewhat  lack-a-daisically, 

"  Why  I've  broke  this  here  clevis — I  ha'n't  touched  anything  nor 
nothing,  and  it  broke  right  in  teu  !  " 

"What  do  you 'spose '11  be  done  now?"  said  Mr.  Plumfield 
gravely  going  up  to  examine  the  fracture. 

"  Well 'twa'n't  none  of  my  doings,"  said  the  young  man.  "I 
ha'n't  touched  anything  nor  nothing — and  the  mean  thing  broke 
right  in  teu.  'Tain't  so  handy  as  the  old  kind  o'  plough,  by  a  long 
jump." 

"  You  go  'long  down  to  the  house  and  ask  my  mother  for  a  new 
clevis  ;  and  talk  about  ploughs  when  you  know  how  to  hold  'em/* 
said  Mr.  Plumfield. 

"  It  don't  look  so  difficult  a  matter,"  said  Mr.  Rossitur, — "  but  I 
am  a  novice  myself.  What  is  the  principal  thing  to  be  attended  tc 
in  ploughing,  Mr.  Plumfield  ?  " 

There  was  a  twinkle  in  Seth's  eye,  as  he  looked  down  upon  a 
piece  of  straw  he  was  breaking  to  bits,  which  Fleda,  who  could  see, 
interpreted  thoroughly. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  looking  up,—"  the  breadth  of  the  stitches  and 
the  width  and  depth  of  the  furrow  must  be  regulated  according  to 
the  nature  of  the  soil  and  the  lay  of  the  ground,  and  what  you're 
ploughing  for  ; — there's  stubble  ploughing,  and  breaking  up  old  Jays, 
and  ploughing  for  fallow  crops,  and  ribbing  where  the  land  has  been 
some  years  in  grass, — and  so  on  ;  and  the  plough  must  be  geared 
accordingly,  and  so  as  not  to  take  too  much  land  nor  go  out  o*  th« 
land  ;  and  after  that  the  best  part  of  the  work  is  to  guide  the  pioMgh 
right  and  run  the  furrows  straight  and  even." 

He  spoke  with  the  most  impenetrable  gravity,  whilt  Mr-  *%»*• 


170  QUEECHY. 

«tur  looked  blank  and  puzzled.  Fleda  could  hardly  keep  her  coufo 
tenance. 

"  That  row  of  poles,"  said  Mr.  Rossitur  presently, — "  are  they  to 
guide  you  in  running  the  furrow  straight?  " 

"  Yes  sir — they  are  to  mark  out  the  crown  of  the  stitch.  I  keep 
'em  right  between  the  horses  and  plough  'em  down  one  after  an- 
ether.  It's  a  kind  of  way  country  folks  play  ai  ninepins,"  said  Seth. 
with  a  glance  half  inquisitive,  half  sly,  at  his  questioner. 

Mr.  Rossitur  asked  no  more.  Fleda  felt  a  little  uneasy  again, 
It  was  rather  a  longish  walk  to  uncle  Joshua's,  and  hardly  a  word 
spoken  on  either  side. 

The  old  gentleman  was  "  to  hum  ;  "  and  while  Fleda  went  back 
into  some  remote  part  of  the  house  to  see  "aunt  Syra,"  Mr.  Ros 
situr  set  forth  his  errand. 

"  Well, — and  so  you're  looking  for  help,  eh  ?  "  said  uncle  Joshua 
when  he  had  heard  him  through. 

"  Yes  sir, — I  want  help." 

"  And  a  team  too?" 

"So  I  have  said,  sir,"  Mr.  Rossitur  answered  rather  shortly. 
"  Can  you  supply  me  ?  " 

"  Well, — I  don't  know  as  I  can,"  said  the  old  man,  rubbing  his 
hands  slowly  over  his  knees. — "You  ha'n't  got  much  done  yet, 
I  s'pose  ?  " 

"  Nothing.     I  came  the  day  before  yesterday." 

"  Land's  in  rather  poor  condition  in  some  parts,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  I  really  am  not  able  to  say,  sir, — till  I  have  seen  it." 

"It  ought  to  be,"  said  the  old  gentleman  shaking  his  head, — "the 
fellow  that  was  there  last  didn't  do  right  by  it — he  worked  the  land 
too  hard,  and  didn't  put  on  it  anywhere  near  what  he  had  ought 
to — I  guess  you'll  find  it  pretty  poor  in  some  places.  He  was  try 
ing  to  get  all  he  could  out  of  it,  I  s'pose.  There's  a  good  deal  of 
fencing  to  be  done  too,  ain't  there  ? " 

"All  that  there  was,  sir, — I  have  done  none  since  I  came." 

"  Seth  Plumfield  got  through  ploughing  yet  ?  " 

"We  found  him  at  it." 

"Ay,  he's  a  smart  man.  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Mr.  Rossitur, 
with  that  piece  of  marsh  land  that  lies  off  to  the  south-east  of  the 
barn,  beyond  the  meadow,  between  the  hills?  I  had  just  sich  an« 
other,  and  I ' ' 

"Before  I  do  anything  with  the  wet  land,  Mr. 1  am  so  urn 

happy  as  to  have  forgotten  your  name  ? — " 

"Springer,  sir,"  said  the  old  gentleman, — "Springer — Joshu* 
Springer.  That  is  my  name,  sir." 

"  Mr.  Springer,  before  I  do  anything  with  the  wet  land  I  should 
like  to  have  something  growing  on  the  dry  ;  and  as  that  is  the  pres? 
«nt  matter  in  hand  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  let  me  know  whether  I 
can  have  your  assistance." 

"Well  I  don't  know, — "  said  the  old  gentleman  ;  "  there  ain't 
anybody  to  send  but  my  boy  Lucas,  and  I  don't  know  whether  he 
would  make  up  his  mind  to  go  or  not." 

"  Well  sir !  " — said  Mr.  Rossitur  rising, — "  in  that  case  I  will  bid 
you  good  morning.  I  am  sorry  to  have  given  you  the  trouble." 


qUEECHT.  171 

"  Stop,"  said  the  old  man, — "  stop  a  bit.  Just  sit  down — I'll  go 
in  and  see  about  it." 

Mr.  Rossitur  sat  down,  and  uncle  Joshua  left  him  to  go  into  the 
kitchen  and  consult  his  wife,  without  whose  counsel,  of  late  years  es 
pecially,  he  rarely  did  anything.  They  never  varied  in  opinion,  but 
aunt  Syra's  wits  supplied  the  steel  edge  to  his  heavy  metal. 

"  I  don't  know  but  Lucas  would  as  leave  go  as  not,"  the  old  gen 
tleman  remarked  coming  back  from  his  sharpening  process, — "and 
\  can  make  out  to  spare  him,  I  guess.  You  calculate  to  keep  him, 
I  s'pose?" 

"  Until  this  press  is  over  ;  and  perhaps  longer,  if  I  find  he  can  do 
what  I  want." 

"  You'll  find  him  pretty  handy  at  a'  most  anything  ;  but  I  mean, 
—I  s'pose  he'll  get  his  victuals  with  you." 

"  I  have  made  no  arrangement  of  the  kind,"  said  Mr.  Rossitur  con 
trolling  with  some  effort  his  rebelling  muscles.  "  Donohan  is  boarded 
somewhere  else,  and  for  the  present  it  will  best  for  all  in  my  employ 
to  follow  the  same  plan." 

"  Very  good,"  said  uncle  Joshua,  "  it  makes  no  difference, — only 
of  course  in  that  case  it  is  worth  more,  when  a  man  has  to  find  him 
self  and  his  team." 

"  Whatever  it  is  worth  I  am  quite  ready  to  pay,  sir." 

"  Very  good  !  You  and  Lucas  can  agree  about  that.  He'll  be 
along  in  the  morning." 

So  they  parted  ;  and  Fleda  understood  the  impatient  quick  step 
•with  which  her  uncle  got  over  the  ground. 

"  Is  that  man  a  brother  of  your  grandfather?  " 

"  No  sir — Oh  no  !  only  his  brother-in-law.  My  grandmother  was 
his  sister,  but  they  weren't  in  the  least  like  each  other." 

"  I  should  think  they  could  not,"  said  Mr.  Rossitur. 

"  Oh  they  were  not !  "  Fleda  repeated.  "  I  have  always  heard 
that." 

After  paying  her  respects  to  aunt  Syra  in  the  kitchen  she  had 
come  back  time  enough  to  hear  the  end  of  the  discourse  in  the  par 
lor,  and  felt  its  full  teaching.  Doubts  returned,  and  her  spirits  were 
sobered  again.  Not  another  word  was  spoken  till  they  reached 
home  ;  when  Fleda  seized  upon  Hugh  and  went  off  to  the  rock  after 
her  forsaken  pie. 

"  Have  you  succeeded?"  asked  Mrs.  Rossitur  while  they  were 
gone. 

"  Yes — that  is,  a  cousin  has  kindly  consented  to  come  and  helf. 
»e." 

"  A  cousin!  "  said  Mrs.  Rossitu*. 

"  Ay, — we're  in  a  nest  of  cousins." 

"  In  a  what,  Mr.  Rossitur?  " 

"  In  a  nest  of  cousins  ;  and  I  had  rather  be  in  a  nest  of  rooks.  I 
wonder  if  I  shall  be  expected  to  ask  my  ploughmen  to  dinner  I 
Every  second  man  is  a  cousin,  and  the  rest  are  uncles." 


173  QUEECHJT. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Whilst  skies  are  blue  and  bright, 

Whilst  flowers  are  gay, 
Whilst  eyes  that  change  ere  night 

Make  glad  the  day ; 
Whilst  yet  the  calm  hours  creep, 
Dream  thou — and  from  thy  sleep 

Then  wake  to  we»p. 

SHELLEY. 

THE  days  of  summer  flew  by,  for  the  most  part  lightly  over  the 
heads  of  Hugh  and  Fleda.  The  farm  was  little  to  them  but  a  place 
of  pretty  and  picturesque  doings  and  the  scene  of  nameless  delights 
by  wood  and  stream,  in  all  which,  all  that  summer,  Fleda  re 
joiced  ;  pulling  Hugh  along  with  her  even  when  sometimes  he 
would  rather  have  been  poring  over  his  books  at  home.  She 
laughingly  said  it  was  good  for  him  ;  and  one  half  at  least  of  every 
fine  day  their  feet  were  abroad.  They  knew  nothing  practically  of 
the  dairy  but  that  it  was  an  inexhaustible  source  of  the  sweetest 
milk  and  butter,  and  indirectly  of  the  richest  custards  and  sylla 
bubs.  The  flock  of  sheep  that  now  and  then  came  in  sight  running 
over  the  hill-side,  were  to  them  only  an  image  of  pastoral  beauty 
and  a  soft  link  with  the  beauty  of  the  past.  The  two  children  took 
the  very  cream  of  country  life.  The  books  they  had  left  were  read 
with  greater  eagerness  than  ever.  When  the  weather  was  "  too 
lovely  to  stay  in  the  house,"  Shakspeare  or  Massillon  or  Sully  or 
the  "  Curiosities  of  Literature  "  or  "  Corinne  "  or  Milner's  Church 
History,  for  Fleda's  reading  was  as  miscellaneous  as  ever,  was  en* 
joyed  under  the  flutter  of  leaves  and  along  with  the  rippling  of  the 
mountain  spring  ;  whilst  King  curled  himself  up  on  the  skirt  of  his 
mistress's  gown  and  slept  for  company  ;  hardly  more  thoughtless 
and  fearless  of  harm  than  his  two  companions.  Now  and  then 
Fleda  opened  her  eyes  to  see  that  her  uncle  was  moody  and  not  like 
himself,  and  that  her  aunt's  gentle  face  was  clouded  in  consequence  ; 
and  she  could  not  sometimes  help  the  suspicion  that  he  was  not 
making  a  farmer  of  himself  ;  but  the  next  summer  wind  would  blow 
these  thoughts  away,  or  the  next  look  of  her  flowers  would  put  them 
out  of  her  head.  The  whole  courtyard  in  front  of  the  house  had 
been  given  up  to  her  peculiar  use  as  a  flower-garden,  and  there  she 
and  Hugh  made  themselves  very  busy. 

But  the  summer-time  came  to  an  end. 

It  was  a  November  morning,  and  Fleda  had  been  doing  some  of 
the  last  jobs  in  her  flower-beds.  She  was  coming  in  with  spirits  as 
bright  as  her  cheeks,  when  her  aunt's  attitude  and  look,  more  than 
usually  spiritless,  suddenly  checked  them.  Fleda  gave  her  a  hope 
ful  kiss  and  asked  for  the  explanation. 

"How  bright  you  look,  darling!"  said  her  aunt,  stroking  her 
cheek. 

"  Yes.  but  you  don't,  aunt  Lucy.    What  has  happened  ?  " 


qUEECHM.  173 

«•  Mary  and  Jane  are  going  away." 

"  Going  away  ! — What  for?  " 

"  They  are  tired  of  the  place— don't  like  it,  I  suppose." 

"  Very  foolish  of  them  !  Well,  aunt  Lucy,  what  matter?  we  can 
get  plenty  more  in  their  room." 

"  Not  from  the  city — not  possible  ;  they  would  not  come  at  this 
time  of  year." 

"  Sure  ?— Well,  then  here  we  can  at  any  rate." 

««  Here  !  But  what  sort  of  persons  shall  we  get  here  ?  And  your 
incle — just  think!  " — 

"  O  but  I  think  we  can  manage,"  said  Fleda.  "  When  do  Mary 
and  Jane  want  to  go  ?  "  • 

"  Immediately  ! — to-morrow — they  are  not  willing  to  wait  till  «vfl 
can  get  somebody.  Think  of  it!  " 

"  Well  let  them  go,"  said  Fleda, — "  the  sooner  the  better." 

"Yes,  and  I  am  sure  I  don't  want  to  keep  them  ;  but — "  and 
Mrs.  Rossitur  wrung  her  hands, — "  I  haven't  money  enough  to  pay 
them  quite, — and  they  won't  go  without  it.'' 

Fleda  felt  shocked— so  much  that  she  could  not  help  looking  it. 

"  But  can't  uncle  Rolf  give  it  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Rossitur  shook  her  head.     «'  I  have  asked  him." 

"  How  much  is  wanting?  " 

"  Twenty-five.     Think  of  his  not  being  able  to  give  me  that !  "— » 

Mrs.  Rossitur  burst  into  tears. 

"  Now  don't,  aunt  Lucy  !  " — said  Fleda,  guarding  well  her  own 
composure  ; — "you  know  he  has  had  a  great  deal  to  spend  upon 
the  farm  and  paying  men,  and  all,  and  it  is  no  wonder  that  he 
should  be  a  little  short  just  now, — now  cheer  up  !-^-we  can  get  along 
with  this  anyhow." 

"I  asked  him,"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur  through  her  tears,  "when 
he  would  be  able  to  give  it  to  me  ;  and  he  told  me  he  didn't 
know  !  ' ' 

Fleda  ventured  no  reply  but  some  of  the  tenderest  caresses  that 
lips  and  arms  could  give  ;  and  then  sprang  away  and  in  three  min 
utes  was  at  her  aunt's  side  again. 

"  Look  here,  aunt  Lucy,"  said  she  gently, — "  here  is  twenty  dol- 
^ars,  if  you  can  manage  the  five." 

J<  Where  did  you  get  this  ?  "  Mrs.  Rossitur  exclaimed. 

85  I  got  it  honestly.     It  is  mine,  aunt  Lucy,"  said  Fleda  smiling. 

Uncle  Orrin  gave  me  some  money  just  before  we  came  away,  to 
^o  what  I  liked  with  ;  and  I  haven't  wanted  to  do  anything  with  it 
till  now." 

But  this  seemed  to  hurt  Mrs.  Rossitur  more  than  all  the  rest. 
Leaning  her  head  forward  upon  Fleda' s  breast  and  clasping  her 
arms  about  her  she  cried  worse  tears  than  Fleda  had  seen  her  shed. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  the  emergency  Fleda  would  have  broken 
down  utterly  too. 

"  That  it  should  have  come  to  this ! — I  can't  take  it,  dear 
Fleda!"— 

"Yes  you  must,  aunt  Lucy,"  said  Fleda  soothingly.  "  I  couldn't 
do  anything  else  with  it  that  would  give  me  so  much  pleasure.  I 
don't  want  it — it  would  lie  in  my  drawer  till  I  don't  know  when. 
We'll  let  these  people  be  off  as  soon  as  they  ptoase.  Don't  tafee  k 


174  QUEECHY. 

so — uncle  Rolf  will  have  money  again— only  just  now  he  is  out,  I 
suppose — and  we'll  get  somebody  else  in  the  kitchen  that  will  d« 
nicely — you  see  if  we  don't." 

Mrs.  Rossitur's  embrace  said  what  words  were  powerless  to 
say. 

"  But  I  don't  know  how  we're  to  find  any  one  here  in  the  country 
—I  don't  know  who'll  go  to  look — I  am  sure  your  uncle  won't  want 
to, — and  Hugh  wouldn't  know — " 

"  I'll  go,"  said  Fleda  cheerfully  ; — "  Hugh  and  I.  We  can  do 
.famously — if  you'll  trust  me.  I  won't  promise  to  bring  home  a 
Drench  cook." 

"  No  indeed — we  must  take  what  we  can  get.  But  you  can  get 
no  one  to-day,  and  they  will  be  off  by  the  morning's  coach— what 
shall  we  do  to-morrow, — for  dinner  ?  Your  uncle " 

"  I'll  get  dinner,"  said  Fleda,  caressing  her  ; — "  I'll  take  all  that 
on  myself.  It  sha'n't  be  a  bad  dinner  either.  Uncle  Rolf  will  like 
what  I  do  for  him  I  dare  say.  Now  cheer  up,  aunt  Lucy  ! — do- 
that' s  all  I  ask  of  you.  Won't  you  ? — for  me  ?  " 

She  longed  to  speak  a  word  of  lhat  quiet  hope  with  which  in  every 
trouble  she  secretly  comforted  herself — she  wanted  to  whisper  the 
words  that  were  that  moment  in  her  own  mind,  "  Truly  Iknow  that 
it  shall  be  well  with  them  that  fear  God  ;  " — but  her  natural  reserve 
and  timidity  kept  her  lips  shut ;  to  her  grief. 

The  women  were  paid  off  and  dismissed  and  departed  in  the  next 
clay's  coach  from  Montepoole.  Fleda  stood  at  the  front  door  to  see 
them  go,  with  a  curious  sense  that  there  was  an  empty  house  at  her 
back,  and  indeed  upon  her  back.  And  in  spite  of  all  the  cheeriness 
of  her  tone  to  her  aunt,  she  was  not  without  some  shadowy  feeling 
that  soberer  times  might  be  coming  upon  them. 

••  What  is  to  be  done  now  ?  "  said  Hugh  close  beside  her. 

"  O  we  are  going  to  get  somebody  else,"  said  Fleda. 

••Where?" 

«'  I  don't  know  ! — You  and  I  are  going  to  find  out." 

•'  You  and  I !— " 

"Yes.  We  are  going  out  after  dinner,  Hugh  dear,"  said  she 
turning  her  bright  merry  face  toward  him, — "to  pick  up  some 
body." 

Linking  her  arm  within  his  she  went  back  to  the  deserted  kitchen 
premises  to  see  how  her  promise  about  taking  Mary's  place  was  to 
fee  fulfilled. 

"  Do  you  know  where  to  look  ?  "  said  Hugh. 

"  I've  a  notion  ; — but  the  first  thing  is  dinner,  that  uncle  Rolf 
mayn't  think  the  world  is  turning  topsy  turvy.  There  is  nothing  at 
all  here,  Hugh  ! — nothing  in  the  world  but  bread — it's  a  blessing 
there  is  that.  Uncle  Rolf  will  have  to  be  satisfied  with  a  coffee  din 
ner  to-day,  and  I'll  make  him  the  most  superb  omelette — that  my 
skill  is  equal  to  !  Hugh  dear,  you  shall  set  the  table. — You  don't 
know  how  ? — then  you  shall  make  the  toast,  and  I  will  set  it  the  first 
thing  of  all.  You  perceive  it  is  well  to  know  how  to  do  everything, 
Mr.  Hugh  Rossitur." 

"Where  did  you  learn  to  make  omelettes?"  said  Hugh  with 
laughing  admiration,  as  Fleda  bared  two  pretty  arms  and  ran  about 
the  very  impersonation  of  wood-humored  activity.  The  table  was 


QUEECHY.  175 

set ,  the  coffee  was  making  ;  and  she  had  him  established  at  the 
fire  with  two  great  plates,  a  pile  of  slices  of  bread,  and  the  toasting* 
iron. 

"  Where  ?  Oh  don't  you  remember  the  days  of  Mrs.  Renney  ?  I 
have  seen  Emile  make  them.  And  by  dint  of  trying  to  teach 
Mary  this  summer  I  have  taught  myself.  There  is  no  knowing,  yqu 
see,  what  a  person  may  come  to." 

"  I  wonder  what  father  would  say  if  he  knew  you  had  made  all 
the  coffee  this  summer !  " 

"  That  is  an  unnecessary  speculation,  my  dear  Hugh,  as  I  have 
no  intention  of  telling  him.  But  see  ! — that  is  the  way  with  specn* 
lators  !  '  While  they  go  on  refining  ' — the  toast  burns  !  " 

The  coffee  and  the  omelette  and  the  toast  and  Mr.  Rossitur's 
lavorite  French  salad,  were  served  with  beautiful  accuracy  ;  and 
he  was  quite  satisfied.  But  aunt  Lucy  looked  sadly  at  Fleda' & 
flushed  face  and  saw  that  her  appetite  seemed  to  have  gone  off  in 
the  steam  of  her  preparations.  Fleda  had  a  kind  of  heart-feast 
however  which  answered  as  well. 

Hugh  harnessed  the  little  wagon,  for  no  one  was  at  hand  to  do 
it,  and  he  and  Fleda  set  off  as  early  as  possible  after  dinner. 
Fleda's  thoughts  had  turned  to  her  old  acquaintance  Cynthia  Gall, 
who  she  knew  was  out  of  employment  and  staying  at  home  some 
where  near  Montepoole.  They  got  the  exact  direction  from  aunt 
Miriam  who  approved  of  her  plan. 

It  was  a  pleasant  peaceful  drive  they  had.  They  never  were 
alone  together,  they  two,  but  vexations  seemed  to  lose  their  power 
or  be  forgotten  ;  and  an  atmosphere  of  quietness  gather  about  them, 
the  natural  element  of  both  hearts.  It  might  refuse  its  presence 
to  one,  but  the  attraction  of  both  together  was  too  strong  to  be  re 
sisted. 

Miss  Cynthia's  present  abode  was  in  an  out  of  the  way  place,  and 
a  good  distance  off ;  they  were  some  time  in  reaching  it.  The 
barest-looking  and  dingiest  of  houses,  set  plump  in  a  green  field, 
without  one  softening  or  home-like  touch  from  any  home-feeling 
within  ;  not  a  flower,  not  a  shrub,  not  an  out-house,  not  a  tree  near. 
One  would  have  thought  it  a  deserted  house,  but  that  a  thin  wreath 
of  smoke  lazily  stole  up  from  one  of  the  brown  chimneys  ;  and 
graceful  as  that  was  it  took  nothing  from  the  hard  stern  barrenness 
below  which  told  of  a  worde  poverty  than  that  of  paint  and 
glazing. 

11  Can  this  be  the  place  ?  "  said  Hugh. 

"  It  must  be.  You  stay  here  with  the  horse,  and  I'll  go  in 
and  seek  my  fortune.— Don't  promise  much,"  said  Fleda  shak 
ing  her  head. 

The  house  stood  back  from  the  road.  Fleda  picked  her  way 
to  it  along  a  little  footpath  which  seemed  to  be  the  equal  prop 
erty  of  the  geese.  Her  knock  brought  an  invitation  to  "come 
in." 

An  elderly  woman  was  sitting  there  whose  appearance  did  not 
mend  the  general  impression.  She  had  the  same  dull  and  unhope 
ful  look  that  her  house  had. 

"  Docs  Mrs.  Gall  live  here  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  this  person. 


17«  QUEECHY. 

"  Is  Cynthia  at  home  ?  " 

The  woman  upon  this  raised  her  voice  and  directed  it  at  an  inr»«f 
door. 

"  Lucindy  ?  "  said  she  in  a  diversity  of  tone, — "Lucindy!-- 
tell  Cynthy  here's  somebody  wants  to  see  her." — But  no  one  an^ 
swered,  and  throwing  the  work  from  her  lap  the  woman  mut 
tered  she  would  go  and  see,  and  left  Fleda  with  a  cold  invitation 
to  sit  down. 

Dismal  work !  Fleda  wished  herself  out  of  it.  The  house  did 
not  look  poverty-stricken  within,  but  poverty  must  have  struck  to 
the  very  heart,  Fleda  thought,  where  there  was  no  apparent  cherish 
ing  of  anything.  There  was  no  absolute  distress  visible,  neithei 
was  there  a  sign  of  real  comfort  or  of  a  happy  home.  She  could 
not  fancy  it  was  one. 

She  waited  so  long  that  she  was  sure  Cynthia  did  not  hold  her 
self  in  readiness  to  see  company.  And  when  the  lady  at  last  came 
in  it  was  with  very  evident  marks  of  "  smarting  up  "  about  her. 

"Why  it's  Flidda  Ringgan  !  "  said  Miss  Gall  after  a  dubious 
look  or  two  at  her  visitor.  "  How  do  you  do?  I  didn't  'spect  to  see 
you.  How  much  you  have  growed  !  " 

She  looked  really  pleased  and  gave  Fleda's  hand  a  very  strong 
grasp  as  she  shook  it. 

"There  ain't  no  fire  here  to-day,"  pursued  Cynthy,  paying  hei 
attentions  to  the  fireplace, — "  we  let  it  go  down  on  account  of  our 
being  all  busy  out  at  the  back  of  the  house.  I  guess  you're  cold, 
ain't  you?" 

Fleda  said  no,  and  remembered  that  the  woman  she  had  first 
seen  was  certainly  not  busy  at  the  back  of  the  house,  nor  anywhere 
else  but  in  that  very  room,  where  she  had  found  her  deep  in  a  pile 
of  patchwork. 

"  I  heerd  you  had  come  to  the  old  place.  Were  you  glad  to  be 
back  again?"  Cynthy  asked  with  a  smile  that  might  be  taken  to 
express  some  doubt  upon  the  subject. 

"  I  was  very  glad  to  see  it  again." 

"  I  hain't  seen  it  in  a  great  while.  I've  been  staying  to  hum  this 
year  or  two.  I  got  tired  o'  going  out,"  Cynthy  remarked,  with 
again  a  smile  very  peculiar  and  Fleda  thought  a  little  sardonical. 
She  did  not  know  how  to  answer. 

"  Well,  how  do  you  come  along' down  yonder? "  Cynthy  wen! 
on,  making  a  great  fuss  with  the  shovel  and  tongs  to  very  little  pur 
pose.  "  Ha'  you  come  all  the  way  from  Queechy." 

"  Yes.     I  came  on  purpose  to  see  you,  Cynthy." 

Without  staying  to  ask  what  for,  Miss  Gall  now  went  out  to  "  the 
back  of  the  house  "  and  came  running  in  again  with  a  live  brand 
pinched  in  the  tongs,  and  a  long  tail  of  smoke  running  after  it. 
Fleda  would  have  compounded  for  no  fire  and  no  choking.  The 
choking  was  only  useful  to  give  her  time  to  think.  She  was  un- 
c/ertain  how  to  bring  in  her  errand. 

"And  how  is  Mis'  Plumfield?"  said  Cynthy,  in  an  interval  of 
blowing  the  brand. 

"  She  is  quite  well  ;  but  Cynthy,  you  need  not  have  taken  all 
that  trouble  for  me.  I  cannot  stay  but  a  few  minutes." 

"There  is  wood  enough  1"  Cynthy  remarked  with  one  of  hct 


OUEECHf.  177 

grim  smiles  ;  an  assertion  Fleda  could  not  help  doubting-  Indeed 
the  thought  Miss  Gall  had  grown  -altogether  more  disagreeable  than 
sue  used  to  be  in  old  times.  Why,  she  could  not  divine,  unless  the 
souring  effect  had  gone  on  with  the  years. 

"And  what's  become  of  Earl  Douglass  and  Mis'  Douglass?  I 
hain't  heerd  nothin*  of  'em  this  great  while.  I  always  told  your 
grandpa  he'd  ha'  saved  himself  a  great  deal  o'  trouble  if  he'd  ha' 
let  Earl  Douglass  take  hold  of  things.  You  ha' n't  got  Mr.  Diden- 
hover  into  the  works  again  I  guess,  have  you  ?  He  was  there  a 
good  spell  after  your  grandpa  died." 

"I  haven't  seen  Mrs.  Douglass,"   said  Fleda.     "But  Cynthy 
"what  do  you  think  I  have  come  here  for?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Cynthy,  with  another  of  her  peculiar 
looks  directed  at  the  fire.  "  I  s'pose  you  want  someh'n  nother  of 
me." 

"  I  have  come  to  see  if  you  wouldn't  come  and  live  with  my 
aunt,  Mrs.  Rossitur,  We  are  left  alone  and  want  somebody  very 
much  ;  and  I  thought  I  would  find  you  out  and  see  if  we  couldn't 
have  you,  first  of  all, — before  I  looked  for  anybody  else." 

Cynthy  was  absolutely  silent.  She  sat  before  the  fire,  her  feet 
stretched  out  toward  it  as  far  as  they  would  go,  and  her  arms 
crossed,  and  not  moving  her  steady  gaze  at  the  smoking  wood,  or 
the  chimney-back,  whichever  it  might  be  ;  but  there  was  in  the 
corners  of  her  mouth  the  threatening  of  a  smile  that  Fleda  did  not 
at  all  like. 

"What  do  you  say  to  it  Cynthy  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  you'd  best  get  somebody  else,"  said  Miss  Gall  with  a 
kind  of  condescending  dryness,  and  the  smile  showing  a  little 
more. 

"Why?"  said  Fleda.  "  I  would  a  greal  deal  rather  have  an 
old  friend  than  a  stranger." 

"  Be  you  the  housekeeper?  "  said  Cynthy  a  little  abruptly. 

"  O  I  am  a  little  of  everything,"  said  Fleda  ; — "cook  and  house 
keeper  and  whatever  comes  first.  I  want  you  to  come  and  be 
housekeeper,  Cynthy." 

"I  reckon  Mis'  Rossitur  don't  have  much  to  do  with  her  help, 
does  she  ?  "  said  Cynthy  after  a  pause,  during  which  the  corners  of 
her  mouth  never  changed.  The  tone  of  piqued  independence  let 
some  light  into  Fleda's  mind. 

"  She  is  not  strong  enough  to  do  much  herself,  and  she  wants 
some  one  that  will  take  all  the  trouble  from  her.  You'd  have  the 
field  all  to  yourself,  Cynthy." 

"  Your  aunt  sets  two  tables  I  calculate,  don't  she  ?  " 
'  Yes — my   uncle   doesn't  like   to   have  any  but  his  own  family 
around  him." 

"  I  guess  I  shouldn't  suit !  "  said  Miss  Gall,  after  another  little 
pause,  and  stooping  very  diligently  to  pick  up  some  scattered  shreds 
from  the  floor.  But  Fleda  could  see  the  flushed  face  and  the  smile 
which  pride  and  a  touch  of  spiteful  pleasure  in  the  revenge  she 
was  taking  made  particularly  hateful.  She  needed  no  more  con 
vincing  that  Miss  Gall  "  wouldn't  suit  ;  "  but  she  was  sorry  at  the 
time  for  the  pcrverseness  that  had  so  needkssly  disappointed 
12 


178 

her  ;  and  went  rather  pensively  back  again  down  the  littJe  footpath 
to  the  waiting  wagon. 

«•  This  is  hardly  the  romance  of  life,  dear  Hugh,"  she  said  as  she 
seated  herself. 

"  Haven't  you  succeeded?" 

Fleda  shook  her  head. 

"  What's  the  matter?  " 

"  O — pride, — injured  pride  of  station  !  The  wrong  of  not  coming 
to  our  table  and  putting  her  knife  into  our  butter." 

"  And  living  in  such  a  place  !  " — said  Hugh. 

"  You  don't  know  what  a  place.  They  are  miserably  poor,  I 
am  sure  ;  and  yet — I  suppose  that  the  less  people  have  to  be  proud 
of  the  more  they  make  of  what  is  left.  Poor  people  ! — 

"  Poor  Fleda  !  "  said  Hugh  looking  at  her.  "  What  will  you  do 
now?" 

"  O  we'll  do  somehow,"  said  she   cheerfully.     "Perhaps  it    is 
just  as  well  after  all,  for  Cynthy  isn't  the  smartest  woman  in  the 
world.     I  remember  grandpa  used  to  say  he  didn't  believe  she 
could  get  a  bean  into  the  middle  of  her  bread." 
— "  A  bean  into  the  middle  of  her  bread  !  "  said  Hugh. 

But  Fleda' s  sobriety  was  quite  banished  by  his  mystified  look, 
and  her  laugh  rang  along  over  the  fields  before  she  answered  him. 

That  laugh  had  blown  away  all  the  vapors,  for  the  present  at 
least,  and  they  jogged  on  again  very  sociably. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Fleda,  after  a  while  of  silent  enjoyment 
in  the  changes  of  scene  and  the  mild  autumn  weather, — "I  am 
not  sure  that  it  wasn't  very  well  for  me  that  we  came  away  from 
New  York." 

"I  dare  say  it  was,"  said  Hugh, — "since  we  came  ;  but  what 
makes  you  say  so?  " 

"  I  don't  mean  that  it  was  for  anybody  else,  but  for  me.  I  think 
I  was  a  little  proud  of  our  nice  things  there." 

"  You,  Fleda!  "  said  Hugh  with  a  look  of  appreciating  affec 
tion. 

"  Yes  I  was,  a  little.  It  didn't  make  the  greatest  part  of  my  love 
for  them,  I  am  sure  ;  but  I  think  I  had  a  little,  undefined,  sort  of 
pleasure  in  the  feeling  that  they  were  better  and  prettier  than  other 
people  had." 

"You  are  sure  you  are  not  proud  of  your  little  King  Charles 
now?"  said  Hugh. 

"I  don't  know  but  I  am,"  said  Fleda  laughing.  "But  how 
much  pleasanter  it  is  here  on  almost  every  account.  Look  at  the 
beautiful  sweep  of  the  ground  off  among  those  hills — isn't  it.  What 
an  exquisite  horizon  line,  Hugh  ?  " 

"  And  what  a  sky  over  it !  " 

"  Yes— I  love  these  fall  skies.  Oh  I  would  a  great  deal  rather  be 
here  than  in  any  city  that  ever  was  built !  " 

"  So  would  I,"  said  Hugh.     "  But  the  thing  is " 

Fleda  knew  quite  well  what  the  thing  was,  and  did  not  answer. 

11  But  my  dear  Hugh,"  she  said  presently,—"  I  don't  remember 
that  sweep  of  hills  when  we  were  coming  ?" 

41  You  were  going  the  other  way,"  said  Hugh. 


QUEECHT.  179 

«•  Yes  but,  Hugh, — I  am  sure  we  did  not  pass  these  grain  fields. 
We  must  have  got  into  the  wrong  road." 

Hugh  drew  the  reins,  and  looked,  and  doubted* 

"There  is  a  house  yonder,"  said  Fleda, — "  we  had  better  drive 
on  and  ask." 

11  There  is  no  house — " 

44  Yes  there  is — behind  that  piece  of  wood.  Look  over  it — don't 
you  see  a  light  curl  of  blue  smoke  against  the  sky? — We  never 
passed  that  house  and  wood,  I  am  certain.  We  ought  to  make  haste, 
for  the  afternoons  are  short  now,  and  you  will  please  to  recollect 
there  is  nobody  at  home  to  get  tea." 

44 1  hope  Lucas  will  get  upon  one  of  his  everlasting  talks  with 
father,"  said  Hugh. 

11  And  that  it  will  hold  till  we  get  home,"  said  Fleda.  "  It  will 
be  the  happiest  use  Lucas  has  made  of  his  tongue  in  a  good 
while." 

Just  as  they  stopped  before  a  substantial-looking  farm-house  a 
man  came  from  the  other  way  and  stopped  there  too,  with  his  hand 
upon  the  gate. 

44  How  far  are  we  from  Queechy,  sir?  "  said  Hugh. 

'•You're  not  from  it  at  all,  sir,"  said  the  man  politely.  "  You're 
in  Queechy,  sir,  at  present." 

44  Is  this  the  right  road  from  Montepoole  to  Queechy  village  ?  " 

"  It  is  not,  sir.  It  is  a  very  tortuous  direction  indeed.  Have  I 
not  the  pleasure  of  speaking  to  Mr.  Rossitur's  young  gentleman?  " 

Mr.  Rossitur's  young  gentleman  acknowledged  his  relationship 
and  begged  the  favor  of  being  set  in  the  right  way  home. 

"  With  much  pleasure  !  You  have  been  showing  Miss  Rossitur 
the  picturesque  country  about  Montepoole  ?  " 

44  My  cousin  and  I  have  been  there  on  business,  and  lost  our  way 
coming  back." 

••  Ah  I  dare  say.     Very  easy.    First  time  you  have  been  there  ?  '* 

n*  Yes  sir,  and  we  are  in  a  hurry  to  get  home." 

st  Well  sir,— you  know  the  road  by  Deacon  Patterson's  ?— com«i 
•ut  just  above  the  lake  ?  " 

Hugh  did  not  remember. 

•'  Well — you  keep  this  road  straight  on, — I'm  sorry  you  are  in  a 
hurry, — you  keep  on  till— do  you  know  when  you  strike  Mr.  Har 
iris' s  ground?  " 

No,  Hagh  knew  nothing  about  it,  nor  Fleda. 

"Well  I'll  tell  you  now  how  it  is,"  said  the  stranger,  "if  you'll 
permit  me.  You  and  your — a — cousin — come  in  and  do  us  the 
pleasure  of  taking  some  refreshment— I  know  my  sister  '11  have 
her  table  set  out  by  this  time — and  I'll  do  myself  the  honor  of 
introducing  you  to— a— these  strange  roads,  afterward." 

44  Thank  you,  sir,  but  that  trouble  is  unnecessary — cannot  you  di« 
«ect  us? " 

44  No  trouble — indeed  sir,  I  assure  you,  I  should  esteem  it  a 
favor — very  highly.  I — I  am  Dr.  Quackenboss,  sir  ;  you  may  have 
.beard— " 

44  Thank  you  Dr.  Quackenboss,  but  we  have  no  time  this  after. 
Boon — we  are  very  anxious  to  reach  home  as  soon  as  possible  ;  if 
you  wouia  be  so  good  as  to  put  us  in  the  way." 


"  I — really  sir,  I  am  afraid — to  a  person  ignorant  of  the  various 

localities — You  will  lose  no  time — I  will  just  hitch  your  horse 
here,  and  I'll  have  mine  ready  by  the  time  this  young  lady  has 
rested.  Miss-— a — won't  you  join  with  me  ?  I  assure  you  I  will 
not  put  you  to  the  expense  of  a  minute — Thank  you! — Mr.  Har 
den  ! — Just  clap  the  saddle  on  to  Lollypop  and  have  him  up  here 
in  three  seconds. — Thank  you! — My  dear  Miss — a — won't  you  take 
my  arm?  I  am  gratified,  I  assure  you." 

Yielding  to  the  apparent  impossibility  of  getting  anything  out  of 
Dr.  Quackenboss,  except  civility,  and  to  the  real  difficulty  of  dis« 
appointing  such  very  earnest  good  will,  Feda  and  Hugh  did  wha£ 
older  persons  would  not  have  done, — alighted  and  walked  up  to 
the  bouse. 

"This  is  quite  a  fortuitous  occurrence,"  the  doctor  went  on  ;— 
••  I  have  often  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Mr.  Rossitur's  family  in 
church — in  the  little  church  at  Queechy  Run — and  that  enabled 
me  to  recognize  your  cousin  as  soon  as  I  saw  him  in  the  wagon. 
Perhaps  Miss — a — you  may  have  possibly  heard  of  my  name  ?— - 
Quackenboss — I  don't  know  that  you  understood " 

"  I  have  heard  it,  sir." 

"  My  Irishmen,  Miss— a— my  Irish  laborers,  can't  get  hold  of  but 
one  end  of  it ;  they  call  me  Boss — ha,  ha,  ha!  " 

Fleda  hoped  his  patients  did  not  get  hold  of  the  other  end  of  it, 
and  trembled,  visibly. 

"  Hard  to  pull  a  man's  name  to  pieces  before  his  face, — ha,  ha! 
but  I  am — a — not  one  thing  myself, — a  kind  of  heterogynous — I  am 
a  piece  of  a  physician  and  a  little  in  the  agricultural  line  also  ;  so 
it's  all  fair." 

"  The  Irish  treat  my  name  as  hardly.  Dr.  Quackenboss — they 
call  me  nothing  but  Miss  Ring-again." 

And  then  Fleda  could  laugh,  and  laugh  she  did,  so  heartily  that 
the  doctor  was  delighted. 

41  Ring-again !  ha  ha ! — Very  good  ! — Well,  Miss — a — I  shouldn't 
think  that  anybody  in  your  service  would  ever — a — ever  let  you  put 
your  name  in  practice." 

But  Fleda's  delight  at  the  excessive  gallantry  and  awkwardness 
©f  this  speech  was  almost  too  much  ;  or,  as  the  doctor  pleasantly 
remarked,  her  nerves  were  too  many  for  her  ;  and  every  one  of 
*hem  was  dancing  by  the  time  they  reached  the  hall-door.  Th« 
ioctor's  flourishes  lost  not  a  bit  of  their  angularity  from  his  tall  unr 
tainly  figure  and  a  lantern-jawed  face,  the  Tower  member  of  w^iicb 
toad  now  and  then  a  somewhat  lateral  play  when  he  was  speaking, 
which  curiously  aided  the  quaint  effect  of  his  words.  He  ushered 
his  guests  into  the  house,  seeming  in  a  flow  of  self-gratulation. 

The  supper-table  was  spread,  sure  enough,  .and  hovering  about  it 
was  the  doctor's  sister  ;  a  lady  in  whom  Fleda  only  saw  a  Dutch 
face,  with  eyes  that  made  no  impression,  disagreeable  fair  hair,  and 
a  string  of  gilt  beads  round  her  neck.  A  painted  yellow  floo* 
under  foot,  a  room  that  looked  excessively  wooden  and  smelt  of 
cheese,  bare  walls  and  a  well-filled  table,  was  all  that  she  took  in 
besides. 

"I  have  the  honor  of  presenting  you  to  my  sister,"  said  the 
doctor  with  suavity.  "  Flora,  tht  Irish  domestics  of  this  youqg 


QUEECHY.  181 

!a*!y  £all  her  name  Miss  Ring-again — if  she  will  let  us  know  how  it 

ought  to  be  called  we  shall  be  happy  to  be  informed." 

Dr.  Quackenboss  was  made  happy. 

"  Miss  Ringgan — and  this  young  gentleman  is  young  Mr.  Rossi- 
tur — the  gentleman  that  has  taken  Squire  Ringgan's  old  place. 
We  were  so  fortunate  as  to  have  them  lose  their  way  this  after 
noon,  coming  from  the  Pool,  and  they  have  just  stepped  in  to  see 
if  you  can't  find  'em  a  mouthful  of  something  they  can  eat,  while 
Lollypop  is  a  getting  ready  to  see  them  home." 

Poor  Miss  Flora  immediately  disappeared  into  the  kitchen,  to 
arder  a  bit  of  superior  cheese  and  to  have  some  slices  of  ham  put 
on  the  gridiron,  and  then  coming  back  to  the  common  room  went 
rummaging  about  from  cupboard  to  cupboard,  in  search  of  cake 
and  sweetmeats.  Fleda  protested  and  begged  in  vain. 

14  She  was  so  sorry  she  hadn't  knowed,"  Miss  Flora  said, — 
•'  she'd  ha*  had  some  cakes  made  that  maybe  they  could  have 
eaten,  but  the  bread  was  dry  ;  and  the  ctieese  wa'n't  as  good 
somehow  as  the  last  one  they  cut ;  maybe  Miss  Ringgan  would  pre 
fer  a  piece  of  newer-made,  if  she  liked  it  ;  and  she  hadn't  had 
good  luck  with  her  preserves  last  summer— the  most  of  'em  had 
fomented — she  thought  it  was  the  damp  weather ;  but  there  was 
some  stewed  pears  that  maybe  she  would  be  so  good  as  to  ap 
prove — and  there  was  some  ham !  whatever  else  it  was  it  was 
hot!—" 

It  was  impossible  to  do  dishonor  to  all  this  hospitality  and  kind 
ness  and  pride  that  was  brought  out  for  them.  Early  or  late,  they 
must  eat,  in  mere  gratitude.  The  difficulty  was  to  avoid  eating 
everything.  Hugh  and  Fleda  managed  to  compound  the  matter 
with  each  other,  one  taking  the  cake  and  pears,  and  the  other  the 
ham  and  cheese.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  overflow  of  good-will 
Fleda  bethought  her  to  ask  if  Miss  Flora  knew  of  any  girl  or 
woman  that  would  go  out  to  service.  Miss  Flora  took  the  matter 
into  grave  consideration  as  soon  as  her  anxiety  on  the  subject  of 
their  cups  of  tea  had  subsided.  She  did  not  commit  herself,  but 
thought  it  possible  that  one  of  the  Finns  might  be  willing  to  go  out, 

"  Where  do  they  live  ?  " 

"It's — a — not  far  from  Queechy  Run,"  said  the  doctor,  whose 
'o\v  and  then  hesitation  in  the  midst  of  his  speech  was  never  for 

ant  of  a  thought  but  simply  and  merely  for  the  best  words  to 
iothe  it  in. 

••  Is  it  in  our  way  to-night  ?  " 

He  could  make  it  so,  the  doctor  said,  with  pleasure,  for  it  would 
give  him  permission  to  gallant  them  a  little  further. 

They  had  several  miles  yet  to  go,  and  the  sun  went  down  as  they 
were  passing  through  Queechy  Run.  Under  that  still  cool  clear 
autumn  sky  Fleda  would  have  enjoyed  the  ride  very  much,  but 
that  her  unfulfilled  errand  was  weighing  upon  her,  and  she  feared 
her  aunt  and  uncle  might  want  her  services  before  she  could  be  at 
home.  Still,  late  as  it  was,  she  determined  to  stop  for  a  minute  at 
Mrs.  Finn's  and  go  home  with  a  clear  conscience.  At  her  doer, 
and  not  till  there,  the  doctor  was  prevailed  upon  to  part  company, 
the  rest  of  the  way  being  perfectly  ulain. 

Mrs.  Finn's  house  was  a  great  unprepossessing  building,  wasfetd 


182  QUEECHY. 

and  dried  by  the  rain  and  sun  into  a  dark  dingy  color,  the  only  one 
that  had  ever  supplanted  the  original  hue  of  the  fresh-sawn  boards. 
This  indeed  was  not  an  uncommon  thing  in  the  country  ;  near  all 
the  houses  of  the  Deepwater  settlement  were  in  the  same  case. 
Fleda  went  up  a  flight  of  steps  to  what  seemed  the  front  door,  but 
the  girl  that  answered  her  knock  led  her  down  them  again  and 
round  to  a  lower  entrance  on  the  other  side.  This  introduced  Fleda 
to  a  large  ground-floor  apartment,  probably  the  common  room  of 
the  family,  with  the  large  kitchen  fireplace  and  flagged  hearth  and 
\_vall  cupboards,  and  the  only  furniture  the  usual  red-backed  splinter 
Chairs  and  wooden  table.  A  woman  standing  before  the  fire  with 
a  broom  in  her  hand  answered  Fleda' s  inclination  with  a  saturnine 
nod  of  the  head,  and  fetching  one  of  the  red-backs  from  the  wall 
bade  her  "  sit  down." 

Poor  Fleda's  nerves  bade  her  ••  go  away."  The  people  looked 
like  their  house.  The  principal  woman,  who  remained  standing 
broom  in  hand  to  hear  Fleda's  business,  was  in  good  truth  a  aark 
personage  ;  her  head  covered  with  black  hair,  her  person  with  a 
dingy  black  calico,  and  a  sullen  cloud  lowering  over  her  eye.  At 
the  corner  of  the  fireplace  was  an  old  woman,  laid  by  in  an  easy 
chair  ;  disabled,  it  was  plain,  not  from  mental  but  bodily  infirmity ; 
for  her  face  had  a  cast  of  mischief  which  could  not  stand  with  the 
innocence  of  second  childhood.  At  the  other  corner  sat  an  elderly 
woman  sewing,  with  tokens  of  her  trade  for  yards  on  the  floor 
around  her.  Back  at  the  far  side  of  the  room  a  young  man  was 
eating  his  supper  at  the  table  alone  ;  and  under  the  table,  on  the 
floor,  the  enormous  family  bread  trough  was  unwontedly  filled  with 
the  sewing-woman's  child,  which  had  with  superhuman  efforts 
crawled  into  it  and  lay  kicking  and  crowing  in  delight  at  its  new 
cradle.  Fleda  did  not  know  how  to  enter  upon  her  business. 

"  I  have  been  looking,"  she  began,  "  for  a  person  who  is  willing 
to  go  out  to  work — Miss  Flora  Quackenboss  told  me  perhaps  I 
might  find  somebody  here." 

"Somebody  to  help?"  said  the  woman  beginning  to  use  her 
broom  upon  the  hearth. — "  Who  wants  'em  ?  " 

"Mrs,  Rossitur — my  aunt." 

"Mrs.  Rossitur? — what,  down  to  old  Squire  Ringgan's  place?" 

'•Yes.     We  are  left  alone  and  want  somebody  very  much." 

•'  Do  you  want  her  only  a  few  days,  or  do  you  calculate  to  have 
her  stop  longer  ?  because  you  know  it  wouldn't  be  worth  the  while 
to  put  oneself  out  for  a  week." 

"  O  we  want  her  to  stay, — if  we  suit  each  other." 

"Well  I  don't  know,"  said  the  woman  going  on  with  her  sweep 
ing,—"  I  could  let  you  have  Hannah,  but  I  'spect  I'll  want  her  to 
hum — What  does  Mis'  Rossitur  calculate  to  give?" 

"  I  don't  know — anything  that's  reasonable." 

"  Hannah  kin  go — just  as  good  as  not,"  said  the  old  woman  in 
the  corner  rubbing  her  hands  up  and  down  her  lap  ; — "  Hannah  kin 
go,  just  as  good  as  not !  " 

**  Hannah  ain't  a  going,"  said  the  first  speaker,  answering  with 
out  looking  at  her.  "  Hannah  '11  be  wanted  to  hum  ;  and  she 
ain't  a  well  girl  neither  ;  she's  kind  o'  weak  in  her  muscles  ;  and  I 
calculate  you  want  somebody  that  can  take  hold  lively.  There's 


QUBECtiY.  183 

Lucy — if  she  took  a  notion  she  could  go — but  she'd  please  herself 
about  it.     She  won't  do  nothing  without  she  has  a  notion." 

This  was  inconclusive,  and  desiring  to  bring  matters  to  a  point 
Fleda  after  a  pause  asked  if  this  lady  thought  Lucy  would  have  a 
notion  tq  go. 

"  Well  I  can't  say— she  ain't  to  hum  or  you  could  ask  her.  She's 
down  to  Mis'  Douglass's,  working  for  her  to-day.  Do  you  know 
Mis'  Douglass? — Earl  Douglass's  wife ?" 

"O  yes,  I  knew  her  long  ago,"  said  Fleda,  thinking  it  might  be 
kg  well  to  throw  in  a  spice  of  ingratiation  ; — "  I  am  Fleda  Ring- 
gan.  I  used  to  live  here  with  my  grandfather." 

"  Don't  say  !  Well  I  thought  you  had  a  kind  o*  look — the  old 
Squire's  granddarter,  ain't  you  ?  " 

"  She  looks  like  her  father,"  said  the  sewing-woman  laying  down 
her  needle,  which  indeed  had  been  little  hindrance  to  her  admiration 
Since  Fleda  came  in. 

"  She's  a  real  pretty  gal,"  said  the  old  woman  in  the  corner. 

"  He  was  as  smart  a  lookin*  man  as  there  was  in  Queechy  town 
ship,  or  Montepoole  either,"  the  sewing-woman  went  on,  "  Do  you 
mind  him,  Flidda?  " 

"  Anastasy,"  said  the  old  woman  aside,  "  let  Hannah  go !  " 

"  Hannah's  a  going  to  keep  to  hum  ! — Well  about  Lucy,"  she 
said,  as  Fleda  rose  to  go, — "  I  can't  just  say— suppos'n  you  come 
here  to-morrow  afternoon — there's  a  few  coming  to  quilt,  and  Lucy 
'11  be  to  hum  then.  I  should  admire  to  have  you, — and  then  you 
and  Lucy  can  agree  what  you'll  fix  upon.  You  can  get  somebody 
to  bring  you,  can't  you  ?" 

Fleda  inwardly  shrank,  but  managed  to  get  off  with  thanks  and 
without  making  a  positive  promise,  which  Miss  Anastasia  would  fain 
have  had.  She  was  glad  to  be  out  of  the  house  and  driving  off 
with  Hugh. 

How  delicious  the  open  air  feels  !  " 
What  has  this  visit  produced  ?  "  said  Hugh. 
An  invitation  to  a  party,  and  a  slight  possibility  that  at  the  party 
I  may  find  what  I  want." 

'  A  party !  "  said  Hugh.     Fleda  laughed  and  explained. 
And  do  you  intend  to  go?  " 

Not  I !— at  least  I  think  not.     But  Hugh,  don'^t  say  anything 
about  all  this  to  aunt  Lucy.     She  would  be  troubled." 

Fleda  had  certainly  when  she  came  away  no  notion  of  improving 
her  acquaintance  with  Miss  Anastasia  ;  but  the  supper,  and  the 
breakfast  and  the  dinner  of  the  next  day,  with  all  the  nameless  and 
almost  numberless  duties  of  housework  that  filled  up  the  time  be 
tween,  wrought  her  to  a  very  strong  sense  of  the  necessity  of  having 
some  kind  of  "help"  soon.  Mrs.  Rossitur  wearied  herself  exces 
sively  with  doing  very  little,  and  then  looked  so  sad  to  see  Fleda 
working  on,  that  it  was  more  disheartening  and  harder  to  bear  than 
the  fatigue.  Hugh  was  a  ^rnost  faithful  and  invaluable  coadjutor, 
and  his  lack  of  strength  was  like  her  own  made  up  by  energy  of 
will  ;  but  neither  of  them  could  bear  the  strain  long  ;  and  when  the 
final  clearing  away  of  the  dinner-dishes  gave  her  a  breathing-time 
she  resolved  to  dress  herself  and  put  her  thimble  in  her  pocket  and 
go  over  to  Miss  Finn's  quilting.  Mist  Lucy  might  not  be  like  Miss 


184 

Anastasia;  and  if  she  were,   anything  that  had  hands  and  feet  tft 
move  instead  of  her  own  would  be  welcome. 

Hugh  went  with  her  to  the  door  and  was  to  come  for  her  at  sunset. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

With  superfluity  of  breeding 

First  makes  you  sick,  and  then  with  feeding. 

JENYNS. 

Miss  ANASTASIA  was  a  little  surprised  and  a  good  deal  gratified, 
Fleda  saw,  by  her  coming,  and  played  the  hostess  with  great  be 
nignity.  The  quilting-frame  was  stretched  in  an  upper  room,  not  in 
the  long  kitchen,  to  Fleda's  joy  ;  most  of  the  company  were  already 
seated  at  it,  and  she  had  to  go  through  a  long  string  of  introduc 
tions  before  she  was  permitted  to  take  her  place.  First  of  all  Earl 
Douglass's  wife,  who  rose  up  and  taking  both  Fleda's  hands 
squeezed  and  shook  them  heartily,  giving  her  with  eye  and  lip  a 
most  genial  welcome.  This  lady  had  every  look  of  being  a  very 
clever  woman  ;  "  a  manager  "  she  was  said  to  be  ;  and  indeed  her 
very  nose  had  a  little  pinch  which  prepared  one  for  nothing  super 
fluous  about  her.  Even  her  dress  could  not  have  wanted  another 
breadth  from  the  skirt  and  had  no  fulness  to  spare  about  the  body. 
Neat  as  a  pin  thougk  ;  and  a  well-to-do  look  through  it  all.  Miss 

Suackenboss  Fleda  recognized  as  an  old  friend,  gilt  beads  and  all. 
atherine  Douglass  had  grown  up  to  a  pretty  girl  during  the  five 
years  since  Fleda  had  left  Queechy,  and  gave  her  a  greeting  half 
smiling  and  half  shy.  There  was  a  little  more  affluence  about  the 
flow  of  her  drapery,  and  the  pink  ribbon  round  her  neck  was  con 
fined  by  a  little  dainty  Jew's  harp  of  a  brooch  ;  she  had  her  mother's 
pinch  of  the  nose  too.  Then  there  were  two  other  young  ladies  ; — 
Miss  Letitia  Ann  Thornton,  a  tall  grown  girl  in  pantalettes,  evidently 
a  would-be  aristocrat  from  the  air  of  her  head  and  lip,  with  a  well- 
looking  face  and  looking  well  knowing  of  the  same,  and  sporting 
neat  little  white  cuffs  at  her  wrists,  the  only  one  who  bore  such  a 
distinction.  The  third  of  these  damsels,  Jessie  Healy,  impressed 
Fleda  with  having  been  brought  up  upon  coarse  meat  and  having 
grown  heavy  in  consequence  ;  the  other  two  were  extremely  fair  and 
delicate,  both  in  complexion  and  feature.  Her  aunt  Syra  Fleda 
recognized  without  particular  pleasure  and  managed  to  seat  herself 
at  the  quilt  with  the  sewing-woman  and  Miss  Hannah  between 
them.  Miss  Lucy  Finn  she  found  seated  at  her  right  hand,  but  after 
all  the  civilities  she  had  just  gone  through  Fleda  had  not  courage 
just  then  to  dash  into  business  with  her,  and  Miss  Lucy  herself 
stitched  away  and  was  dumb. 

So  were  the  rest  of  the  party — rather.  The  presence  of  the  new 
comer  seemed  to  have  the  effect  of  a  spell.  Fleda  could  not  think 
they  had  been  as  silent  before  her  joining  them  as  they  were  for 
some  time  afterward.  The  young  ladies  were  absolutely  mute,  and 
conversation  seemed  to  flag  even  among  the  elder  ones  ;  and  if 
Fle<la  evec  raised  her  eyes  from  the  quilt  to  look  at  somebody  she 
was  su  e  to  see  somebody's  eyes  looking  at  her,  with  a  curiosity 
well  enough  defined  and  mixed  with  a  more  or  less  amount  of  be* 


QUEECHY.  185 

nevolence  and  pleasure.  Fleda  was  growing  very  industrious  and 
feeling  her  cheeks  grow  warm  when  the  checked  stream  of  conver 
sation  began  to  take  revenge  by  turning  its  tide  upon  her. 

"Are  you  glad  to  be  back  to  Queechy,  Fleda?"  said  Mrs. 
Douglass  from  the  opposite  far  end  of  the  quilt. 

"  Yes  ma'am,"  said  Fleda,  smiling  back  her  answer, — "  on  some 
accounts." 

"Ain't  she  growed  like  her  father,  Mis'  Douglass  ?"  said  the 
sewing-woman.  "  Do  you  recollect  Walter  Ringgan — what  a  hand<=- 
some  feller  he  was  ?  " 

The  two  opposite  girls  immediately  found  something  to  say  to 
2ach  other. 

"  She  ain't  a  bit  more  like  him  than  she  is  like  her  mother,"  said 
Mrs.  Douglass,  biting  off  the  end  of  her  thread  energetically.  "Amy 
Ringgan  was  a  sweet  good  woman  as  ever  was  in  this  town." 

Again  her  daughter's  glance  and  smile  went  over  to  the  speaker. 

"You  stay  in  Queechy  and  live  like  Queechy  folks  do,"  Mrs. 
Douglass  added,  nodding  encouragingly,  "and  you'll  beat  both 
on  "em." 

But  this  speech  jarred,  and  Fleda  wished  it  had  not  been 
spoken. 

"  How  does  your  uncle  like  farming  ?  "  said  aunt  Syra. 

A  home-thrust,  which  Fleda  parried  by  saying  he  had  hardly  got 
accustomed  to  it  yet. 

"What's  been  his  business?  what  has  he  been  doing  all  his  life 
till  now  ?  "  said  the  sewing-woman. 

Fleda  replied  that  he  had  had  no  business  ;  and  after  the  minds 
of  the  company  had  had  time  to  entertain  this  statement  she  was 
startled  by  Miss  Lucy's  voice  at  her  elbow. 

"  It  seems  kind  o'  curious,  don't  it,  that  a  man  should  live  to  be 
£>rty  or  fifty  years  old  and  not  know  anything  of  the  earth  he  gets 
his  bread  from  ?  ' ' 

"What  makes  you  think  he  don't?"  said  Miss  Thornton  rather 
tartly. 

"She  wa'n't  speaking  o*  nobody,"  said  aunt  Syra. 

"I  was — I  was  speaking  of  man — I  was  speaking  abstractly," 
said  Fleda's  right-hand  neighbor. 

"  What's  abstractly?  "  said  Miss  Anastasia  .scornfully. 

"  Where  do  you  get  hold  of  such  hard  words,  Lucy  ?  "  said  Mrs0 
Douglass. 

"I  don't  know,  Mis'  Douglass; — they  come  tome; — it's  prac« 
tice8  I  suppose.  I  had  no  intention  of  being  obscure." 

"  One  kind  o'  word's  as  easy  as  another  I  suppose,  when  you're 
?jsed  to  it,  ain't  it?"  said  the  sewing-woman. 

"What's  abstractly  ?  "  said  the  mistress  of  the  house  again. 

"Look  in  the  dictionary,  if  you  want  to  know,"  said  her  sister. 

"  I  don't  want  to  know — I  only  want  you  to  tell." 

••  When  do  you  get  time  for  it,  Lucy  ?  ha' n't  you  nothing  else  to 
practice?"  pursued  Mrs.  Douglass. 

"  Yes,  Mis'  Douglass  ;  but  then  there  are  times  for  exertion,  and 
other  times  less  disposable  ;  and  when  I  feel  thoughtful,  or  low,  I 
commonly  retire  to  my  room  and  contemplate  the  stars  or  write  a 
composition." 


186  QUEECHT. 

The  sewing-woman  greeted  this  speech  with  an  unqualified  ha! 
ha  !  and  Fleda  involuntarily  raised  her  head  to  look  at  the  last 
speaker ;  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  noticed  about  her,  except 
that  she  was  in  rather  nicer  order  than  the  rest  of  the  Finn 
family. 

"  Did  you  get  home  safe  last  night?'*  inquired  Miss  Quacken- 
boss,  bending  forward  over  the  quilt  to  look  down  to  Fleda. 

Fleda  thanked  her,  and  replied  that  they  had  been  overturned 
and  had  several  ribs  broken. 

"And  where  have  you  been,  Fleda,  all  this  while  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Douglass. 

Fleda  told,  upon  which  all  the  quil ting-party  raised  their  heads 
simultaneously  to  take  another  review  of  her. 

"Your  uncle's  wife  ain't  a  Frenchwoman,  be  she?"  asked  the 
sewing-woman. 

Fleda  said  "oh  no!" — and  Miss  Quackenboss  remarked  that 
"she  thought  she  wa'n't  ;  "  whereby  Fleda  perceived  it  had  been 
a  subject  of  discussion. 

"  She  lives  like  one,  don't  she?"  said  aunt  Syra. 

Which  imputation  Fleda  also  refuted  to  the  best  of  her  power. 

"  Well  don't  she  have  dinner  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon?'1 
pursued  aunt  Syra. 

Fleda  was  obliged  to  admit  that. 

"And  she  can't  eat  without  she  has  a  fresh  piece  of  roast  mea| 
on  table  every  day,  can  she  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  always  roast,"  said  Fleda,  half  vexed  and  half  laugh 
ing. 

"  I'd  rather  have  a  good  dish  o'  bread  and  'lasses  than  the  hull 
on't  ;  "  observed  old  Mrs.  Finn  ;  from  the  corner  where  she  sat 
manifestly  turning  up  her  nose  at  the  far-off  joints  on  Mrs.  Rossi- 
tur's  dinner-table. 

The  girls  on  the  other  side  of  the  quilt  again  held  counsel  tot 
gcther,  deep  and  low. 

"  Well  didn't  she  pick  up  all  them  notions  in  that  place  yonder! 
—where  you  say  she  has  been  ?  "  aunt  Syra  went  on. 

"  No,"  said  Fleda  ;  "everybody  does  so  in  New  York." 

"  I  want  to  know  what  kind  of  a  place  New  York  is,  now,** 
said  old  Mrs.  Finn  drawlingly.  "  I  s'pose  it's  pretty  big  ain't 
fc?" 

Fleda  replied  that  it  was. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  was  a -most  as  far  as  from  here  to 
Queechy  Run,  now,  ain't  it?  " 

The  distance  mentioned  being  somewhere  about  one-eighth  of 
New  York's  longest  diameter,  Fleda  answered  that  it  was  quite  as 
far. 
'"  I  s'pose  there's  plenty  o'  mighty  rich  folks  there,  ain't  there?" 

"Plenty,  I  believe,"  said  Fleda. 

"I  should  hate  to  live  in  it  awfully !  "  was  the  old  woman's  con 
clusion. 

"I  should  admire  to  travel  in  many  countries,"  said  Miss  Lucy, 
for  the  first  time  seeming  to  intend  her  words  particularly  for 
Fleda' s  ear.  "  I  think  nothing  makes  people  more  genteel.  I  hav* 
observed  it  frequently." 


QUEECHT.  187 

Fleda  said  it  was  very  pleasant ;  but  though  encouraged  by  this 
opening  could  not  muster  enough  courage  to  ask  if  Miss  Lucy  had 
a  "notion"  to  come  and  prove  their  gentility.  Her  next  question 
was  startling, — if  Fleda  had  ever  studied  mathematics? 

"  No,"  said  Fleda.     "  Have  you?  " 

"  O  my,  yes  !  There  was  a  lot  of  us  concluded  we  would  learn 
it  ;  and  we  commenced  to  study  it  a  long  time  ago.  I  think  it's  a 
most  elevating" 

The  discussion  was  suddenly  broken  off,  for  the  sewing-womas? 
exclaimed,  as  the  other  sister  came  in  and  took  her  seat, 

"  Why  Hannah  !  you  ha'n't  been  makin'  bread  with  that  crock 
on  your  hands  !  " 

"Well  Mis'  Barnes!"  said  the  girl, — "I've  washed  'em,  amj 
I've  made  bread  with  'em,  and  even  that  didn't  take  it  off!  " 

"  Do  you  look  at  the  stars,  too,  Hannah?"  said  Mrs.  Douglass. 

Amidst  a  small  hubbub  of  laugh  and  talk  which  now  became 
general,  poor  Fleda  fell  back  upon  one  single  thought — one  wish  ; 
that  Hugh  would  come  to  fetch  her  home  before  tea-time.  But  it 
was  a  vain  hope.  Hugh  was  not  to  be  there  till  sundown,  and  sup 
per  was  announced  long  before  that.  They  all  filed  down,  and 
Fleda  with  them,  to  the  great  kitchen  below  stairs  ;  and  she  found 
herself  placed  in  the  seat  of  honor  indeed,  but  an  honor  she  would 
gladly  have  escaped,  at  Miss  Anastasia's  right  hand. 

A  temporary  locked-jaw  would  have  been  felt  a  blessing.  Fleda 
dared  hardly  even  look  about  her  ;  but  under  the  eye  of  her  hostess 
the  instinct  of  good-breeding  was  found  sufficient  to  swallow  every 
thing  ;  literally  and  figuratively.  There  was  a  good  deal  to  swal 
low.  The  usual  variety  of  cakes,  sweetmeats,  beef,  cheese,  bis 
cuits,  and  pies,  was  set  out  with  some  peculiarity  of  arrangement 
which  Fleda  had  never  seen  before,  and  which  left  that  of  Miss 
Quackenboss  elegant  by  comparison.  Down  each  side  of  the  table 
ran  an  advanced  guard  of  little  sauces,  in  Indian  file,  but  in  com 
panies  of  three,  the  file  leader  of  each  being  a  saucer  of  custard, 
its  follower  a  ditto  of  preserves,  and  the  third  keeping  a  sharp  look 
out  in  the  shape  of  pickles  ;  and  to  Fleda's  unspeakable  horror  she 
discovered  that  the  guests  were  expected  to  help  themselves  at  will 
from  these  several  stores  with  their  own  spoons,  transferring  what 
they  took  either  to  their  own  plates  or  at  once  to  its  final  destina 
tion,  which  last  mode  several  of  the  company  preferred.  The  ad« 
vantage  of  this  plan  was  the  necessary  great  display  of  the  new 
silver  tea-spoons  which  Mrs.  Douglass  slyly  hinted  to  aunt  Syra 
were  the  moving  cause  of  the  tea-party.  But  aunt  Syra  swallowed 
sweetmeats  and  would  not  give  heed. 

There  was  no  relief  for  poor  Fleda.  Aunt  Syra  was  her  next 
neighbor,  and  opposite  to  her,  at  Miss  Anastasia's  left  hand,  was 
the  disagreeable  countenance  and  peering  eyes  of  the  old  crone 
her  mother.  Fleda  kept  her  own  eyes  fixed  upon  her  plate  and 
endeavored  to  see  nothing  but  that. 

"Why  here's  Fleda  ain't  eating  anything,"  said  Mrs.  Douglass. 
"  Won't  you  have  some  preserves?  take  some  custard,  do! — Anas* 
tasy,  she  ha'n't  a  spoon — no  wonder!  " 

Fleda  had  secretly  conveyed  hers  under  cover. 

"There  was  one,"  said  Miss  Anastasia,  looking  about  whore  o»* 


188  QUEECHr. 

should   have    been, — "  T'll   get   another   as   soon   as   1   give   M& 
Springer  her  tea." 

"  Ha' n't  you  got  enough  to  go  round?"  said  the  old  woman 
plucking  at  her  daughter's  sleeve, — "  Anastasy  ! — ha'n't  you  got 
enough  to  go  round?  " 

This  speech  which  was  spoken  with  a  most  spiteful  simplicity 
Miss  Anastasia  answered  with  superb  silence,  and  presently  pro- 
duced  spoons  enough  to  satisfy  herself  and  the  company.  But 
Fleda !  No  earthly  persuasion  could  prevail  upon  her  to  touch 
jpkkles,  sweetmeats,  or  custard,  that  evening  ;  and  even  in  the 
bread  and  cakes  she  had  a  vision  of  hands  before  her  that  took 
away  her  appetite.  She  endeavored  to  make  a  show  with  hung 
beef  and  cups  of  tea,  which  indeed  was  not  Pouchong  ;  but  her 
supper  came  suddenly  to  an  end  upon  a  remark  of  her  hostess,  ad 
dressed  to  the  whole  table,  that  they  needn't  be  surprised  if  they 
found  any  bits  of  pudding  in  the  gingerbread,  for  it  was  made  from 
the  molasses  the  children  left  the  other  day.  Who  "the  children  " 
were  Fleda  did  not  know,  neither  was  it  material. 

It  was  sundown,  but  Hugh  had  not  come  when  they  went  to  the 
upper  rooms  again.  Two  were  open  now,  for  they  were  small  and 
the  company  promised  not  to  be  such.  Fathers  and  brothers  and 
husbands  began  to  come,  and  loud  talking  and  laughing  and 
joking  took  place  of  the  quilting  chit-chat.  Fleda  would  fain  have 
absorbed  herself  in  the  work  again,  but  though  the  frame  still  stood 
there  the  minds  of  the  company  were  plainly  turned  aside  from  their 
duty,  or  perhaps  they  thought  that  Miss  Anastasia  had  had  admir 
ation  enough  to  dispense  with  service.  Nobody  showed  a  thimble 
but  one  or  two  old  ladies  ;  and  as  numbers  and  spirits  gathered 
strength,  a  kind  of  romping  game  was  set  on  foot  in  which  a  vast 
deal  of  kissing  seemed  to  be  the  grand  wit  of  the  matter.  Fleda 
shrank  away  out  of  sight  behind  the  open  door  ot  communication 
between  the  two  rooms,  pleading  with  great  truth  that  she  was  tired 
and  would  like  to  keep  perfectly  quiet ;  and  she  had  soon  the  satis 
faction  of  being  apparently  forgotten. 

In  the  other  room  some  of  the  older  people  were  enjoying  them 
selves  more  soberly.  Fleda" s  ear  was  too  near  the  crack  of  the 
door  not  to  have  the  benefit  of  more  of  their  conversation  than  she 
cared  for.  It  soon  put  quiet  of  mind  out  of  the  question. 

"He'll  twist  himself  up   pretty   short;  that's  my  sense  of  it 
and  he   won't  take   long  to  do  it,   nother,"  said  Earl  Douglass' L 
voice, 

Fleda  would  have  known  it  anywhere  from  its  extreme  peculiar 
ity.  It  never  either  rose  or  fell  much  from  a  certain  pitch  ;  and 
at  that  level  the  words  gurgled  forth,  seemingly  from  an  ever- 
brimming  fountain  ;  he  never  wanted  one  ;  and  the  stream  had 
neither  let  nor  stay  till  his  modicum  of  sense  had  fairly  run  out. 
People  thought  he  had  not  a  greater  stock  of  that  than  some  of  hit 
neighbors  ;  but  he  issued  an  amount  of  word-currency  sufficient 
for  the  use  of  the  county. 

"  He'll  run  himself  agin  a  post  pretty  quick,"  said  uncle  Joshua 
ir  confirmatory  tone  of  voice. 

fleda  had  a  confused  idea  that  somebody  was  going  to  hang 


QUEECHY.  185' 

••  He  ain't  a  workin'  things  right,"  said  Douglass, — "  he  ain't 
a  workin'  things  right  ;  he's  takin'  hold  o'  everything  by  the  tail 
end.  He  ain't  studied  the  business  ;  he  doesn't  know  when  things 
is  right,  and  he  doesn't  know  when  things  is  wrong  ; — and  if  they're 
wrong  he  don't  know  how  to  set  'em  right.  He's  got  a  feller  there 
that  ain't  no  more  fit  to  be  there  than  I  am  to  be  Vice  President  of 
the  United  States;  and  I  ain't  going  to  say  what  I  think  I  am  fit 
for,  but  I  ha' n't  studied  for  that  place  and  I  shouldn't  like  to 
stand  an  examination  for't  ;  and  a  man  hadn't  ought  to  be  a 
farmer  no  more  if  he  ha'n't  qualified  himself.  That's  my  idee.  2 
like  to  see  a  thing  done  well  if  it's  to  be  done  at  all ;  and  then 
ain't  a  stitch  o'  land  been  laid  right  on  the  hull  farm,  nor  c 
furrow  driv'  as  it  had  ought  to  be,  since  he  come  on  to  it ;  and  i 
say,  Squire  Springer,  a  man  ain't  going  to  get  along  in  that  way. 
ana  he  hadn't  ought  to.  I  work  hard  myself,  and  I  calculate  to 
work  hard  ;  and  1  make  a  livin'  by't ;  and  I'm  content  to  work 
hard.  When  I  see  a  man  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  I  think 
he'll  have  nothin'  else  in  'em  soon.  I  don't  believe  he's  done  a 
hand's  turn  himself  on  the  land  the  hull  season  !  " 

And  upon  this  Mr.  Douglass  brought  up. 

"My  son  Lucas  has  been  workin'  with  him,  off  and  on,  pretty 
mucti  the  hull  time  since  he  come  ;  and  he  says  he  ha'n't  begun  to 
know  haw  to  spell  farmer  yet." 

"Ay,  ay!  My  wife — she's  a  little  harder  on  folks  than  I  be — 
I  think  it  ain't  worth  while  to  say  nothin'  of  a  man  without 
I  can  say  some  good  of  him — that's  my  idee — and  it  don't  do 
no  harm,  nother, — but  my  wife,  she  say's  he's  got  to  let 
down  his  notions  a  peg  or  two  afore  they'll  hitch  just  in  the 
right  place  ;  and  I  won't  say  but  what  I  think  she  ain't  maybe 
fur  from  right.  If  a  man's  above  his  business  he  stands  a 
pretty  fair  chance  to  be  below  it  some  day.  I  won't  say  my 
self,  for  I  haven't  any  acquaintance  with  him,  and  a  man 
oughtn't  to  speak  but  of  what  he  is  knowing  to, — but  I  have 
heerd  say,  that  he  wa'n't  as  conversationable  as  it  would  ha'  been 
handsome  in  him  to  be,  all  things  considerin'.  There  seems  to 
be  a  good  many  things  said  of  him,  somehow,  and  I  always  think 
men  don't  talk  of  a  man  if  be  don't  give  'em  occasion;  but  any 
how  I've  been  past  the  farm  pretty  often  myself  this  summer 
workin'  with  Seth  Plumfield ;  and  I've  took  notice  of  things  my 
self;  and  I  know  he's  been  makin'  beds  o'  sparrowgrass  when  he 
had  ought  to  ha'  been  makin'  fences,  and  he's  been  helpin'  that 
little  girl  o'  his'n  set  her  flowers,  when  he  would  ha'  been  better 
sot  to  work  lookin'  after  his  Irishman  ;  but  I  don't  know  as  it 
made  much  matter  nother,  for  if  he  went  wrong  Mr.  Rossitur 
•wouldn't  know  how  to  set  him  right,  and  if  he  was  a  going  right 
Mr.  Rossitur  would  ha'  been  just  as  likely  to  ha'  set  him  wrong. 
Well  I'm  sorry  for  him  !  " 

"  Mr.  Rossitur  is  a  most  gentlemanlike  man,"  said  the  voice  of 
Dr.  Quackenboss. 

"Ay, — I  dare  say  he  is,"  Earl  responded  in  precisely  the  same 
tone.  "I  was  down  to  his  house  one  day  last  summer  to  see  him. 
*—  He  wa'n't  to  hum,  though." 

41  It  would  be  strange  if  harm  come  to  a  man  with  such  a  guardiap 


IdO  QVEBCHT. 

angel  in  the  house  as  that  man  has  in  his'n,"  said  Dr.  Quacken- 
boss. 

"  Well  she's  a  pretty  creetur'  !  "  said  Douglass,  looking  up  with 
some  animation.  "  I  wouldn't  blame  any  man  that  sot  a  good  deal 
by  her.  I  will  say  I  think  she's  as  handsome  as  my  own  darter ; 
and  a  man  can't  go  no  furder  than  that  I  suppose." 

"  She  won't  help  his  farming  much,  I  guess,"  said  uncle  Joshua, 
— "  nor  his  wife  nother." 

Fleda  heard  Dr.  Quackenboss  coming  through  the  doorway  and 
started  from  her  corner  for  fear  he  might  find  her  out  there  and 
know  what  she  had  heard. 

He  very  soon  found  her  out  in  the  new  place  she  had  chosen  and 
came  up  to  pay  his  compliments.  Fleda  was  in  a  mood  for  any 
thing  but  laughing,  yet  the  mixture  of  the  ludicrous  which  the  doc 
tor  administered  set  her  nerves  a  twitching.  Bringing  his  chair 
down  sideways  at  one  angle  and  his  person  at  another,  so  as  to 
meet  at  the  moment  of  the  chair's  touching  the  floor,  and  with  a 
look  and  smile  slanting  to  match,  the  doctor  said, 

"  Well  Miss  Ringgan,  has — a — Mrs.  Rossitur, — does  she  feel  her 
self  reconciled  yet? " 

"Reconciled,  sir?"  said  Fleda. 

"  Yes — a — to  Queechy  ? " 

"She  never  quarrelled  with  it,  sir,"  said  Fleda,  quite  unable  to 
keep  from  laughing. 

"  Yes, — I  mean — a — she  feels  that  she  can  sustain  her  spirits  in 
different  situations  ?  " 

"  She  is  very  well,  sir,  thank  you." 

"  It  must  have  been  a  great  change  to  her — and  to  you  all — com 
ing  to  this  place. ' ' 

"  Yes  sir  ;  the  country  is  very  different  from  the  city." 

"  In  what  part  of  New  York  was  Mr.  Rossitur' s  former  resi 
dence  ? ' ' 

"  In  State  street,  sir." 

" State  street, — that  is  somewhere  in  the  direction  of  the  Park? " 

"No  sir,  not  exactly." 

"Was  Mrs.  Rossitur  a  native  of  the  city  ?" 

"  Not  of  New  York.  O  Hugh,  my  dear  Hugh,"  exclaimed  Fled* 
in  another  tone, — "  what  have  you  been  thinking  of  ?  " 

"  Father  wanted  me,"  said  Hugh.  "  I  could  not  help  it,  Fleda. * 

"You  are  not  going  to  have  the  cruelty  to  take  your — a — cousin 
$.way,  Mr.  Rossitur?"  said  the  doctor. 

But  Fleda  was  for  once  happy  to  be  cruel ;  she  would  hear  no 
remonstrances.  Though  her  desire  for  Miss  Lucy's  "  help  "  had 
considerably  lessened  she  thought  *e  could  not  in  politeness  avoid 
speaking  on  the  subject,  after  being  invited  there  on  purpose.  But 
Miss  Lucy  said  she  "calculated  to  stay  at  home  this  winter,"  unless 
she  went  to  live  with  somebody  at  Kenton  for  the  purpose  of  attend 
ing  a  course  of  philosophy  lectures  that  she  heard  were  to  be  given 
there.  So  that  matter  was  settled  ;  and  clasping  Hugh's  arm  Fleda 
turned  away  from  the  house  with  a  step  and  heart  both  lightened  by 
the  joy  of  being  out  of  it. 

"I  couldn't  come  sooner,  Fleda,"  said  Hugh. 


QUEECHV.  191 

•»  No  matter — O  I'm  so  glad  to  be  away  I  Walk  a  little  faster, 
dear  Hugh. — Have  you  missed  me  at  home  ? " 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  say  no  or  yes  ?  "  said  Hugh  smiling.  "  We 
did  very  well — mother  and  I — and  I  have  left  everything  ready  to 
have  tea  the  minute  you  get  home.  What  sort  of  a  time  have  you 
had?" 

In  answer  to  which  Fleda  gave  him  a  long  history  ;  and  then 
they  walked  on  awhile  in  silence.  The  evening  was  still  and 
would  have  been  dark  but  for  the  extreme  brilliancy  of  the  stars 
through  the  keen  clear  atmosphere.  Fleda  looked  up  at  them 
and  drew  large  draughts  of  [bodily  and  mental  refreshment  with 
the  bracing  air. 

"  Do  you  know  to-morrow  will  be  Thanksgiving  day  ?  " 

•«  Yes — what  made  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"They  were  talking  about  it — they  make  a  great  fuss  here 
Thanksgiving  day." 

"  I  don't  think  we  shall  make  much  of  a  fuss,"  said  Hugh. 

"  I  don't  think  we  shall.  I  wonder  what  I  shall  do — I  am  afraid 
uncle  Rolf  will  get  tired  of  coffee  and  omelettes  in  the  course  of 
time  ;  and  my  list  of  receipts  is  very  limited." 

"  It  is  a  pity  you  didn't  beg  one  of  Mrs.  Renney's  books,"  said 
Hugh  laughing.  "  If  you  had  only  known — " 

"  'Tisn't  too  late!"  said  Fleda  quickly, — "I'll  send  to  New 
York  for  one.  I  will !  I'll  ask  uncle  Orrin  to  get  it  forme.  That's 
the  best  thought!  " 

"  But  Fleda  !  you're  not  going  to  turn  cook  in  that  fashion  !  " 

"  It  would  be  no  harm  to  have  the  book,"  said  Fleda.  "  I  can 
tell  you  we  mustn't  expect  to  get  anybody  here  that  can  make  an 
omelette,  or  even  coffee,  that  uncle  Rolf  will  drink.  Oh  Hugh  ! — " 

"What?" 

"  I  don't  know  where  we  are  going  to  get  anybody  ! — But  don't 
say  anything  to  aunt  Lucy  about  it." 

"  Well,  we  can  keep  Thanksgiving  day,  Fleda,  without  a  din" 
ner,"  said  Hugh  cheerfully. 

1 '  Yes  indeed  ; — I  am  sure  I  can — after  being  among  these  people 
to-night.  How  much  I  have  that  they  want !  Look  at  the  Great 
Bear  over  there  ! — isn't  that  better  than  New  York  ?  " 

"  The  Great  Bear  hangs  over  New  York  too,"  Hugh  said  with  a 
smile. 

"  Ah  but  it  isn't  the  same  thing.  Heaven  hasn't  the  same  eyes 
for  the  city  and  the  country." 

As  Hugh  and  Fleda  went  quick  up  to  the  kitchen  door  they  over 
took  a  dark  figure,  at  whom  looking  narrowly  as  she  passed,  Fleda 
recognized  Seth  Plumfield.  He  was  joyfully  let  into  the  kitchen, 
and  there  proved  to  be  the  bearer  of  a  huge  dish  carefully  covered 
with  a  napkin. 

"  Mother  guessed  you  hadn't  any  Thanksgiving  ready,"  he  saidv 
— "  and  she  wanted  to  send  this  down  to  you  ;  so  I  thought  I  would 
come  and  fetch  it  myself." 

"O  thank  her!  and  thank  you,  cousin  Seth; — how  good  you 
are!" 

"Mother  ha*  n't  lost  her  old  trick  at  'em,"  said  he,  "  so  I  hope 
//4a/'j  good." 


m  QVEECffT. 

"O  I  know  it  is,1'  said  Fleda.  "I  remember  aunt  Miriam*  s 
Thanksgiving  chicken-pies.  Now  cousin  Seth,  you  must  come  in 
and  see  aunt  Lucy." 

"  No,"  said  he  quietly, — "  I've  got  my  farm  boots  on — I  guess  I 
won't  see  anybody  but  you." 

But  Fleda  would  not  suffer  that,  and  finding  she  could  not  move 
him  she  brought  her  aunt  out  into  the  kitchen.  Mrs.  Rossitur's 
manner  of  speaking  and  thanking  him  quite  charmed  Seth,  and 
he  went  away  with  a  kindly  feeling  toward  those  gentle  bright  eyes 
which  he  never  forgot. 

'*  Now  we've  something  for  to-morrow,  Hugh  !  "  said  Fleda  ; — » 
0(1  and  such  a  chicken-pie  I  can  tell  you  as  you  never  saw.  Hugh, 
isn't  it  odd  how  different  a  thing  is  in  ciifferent  circumstances  ?  You 
don't  know  how  glad  I  was  when  I  put  my  hands  upon  that  warm 
pie-dish  and  knew  what  it  was  ;  and  when  did  I  ever  care  in  New 
York  about  Emile's  doings?" 

"  Except  the  almond  gauffres,"  said  Hugh  smiling. 

"I  never  thought  to  be  so  glad  of  a  chicken-pie,"  said  Fleda, 
shaking  her  head. 

Aunt  Miriam's  dish  bore  out  Fleda's  praise,  in  the  opinion  of  all 
that  tasted  it  ;  for  such  fowls,  such  butter,  and  such  cream,  as  went 
to  its  composition  could  hardly  be  known  but  in  an  unsophisticated 
state  of  society.  But  one  pie  could  not  last  for  ever  ;  and  as  soon 
as  the  signs  of  dinner  were  got  rid  of,  Thanksgiving  day  though  it 
was,  poor  Fleda  was  fain  to  go  up  the  hill  to  consult  aunt  Miriam 
about  the  possibility  of  getting  "  help." 

"I  don't  know,  dear  Fleda,"  said  she; — "  if  you  cannot  get 
Lucy  Finn —  I  don't  know  who  else  there  is  you  can  get.  Mrs. 
Toles  wants  both  her  daughters  at  home  I  know  this  winter,  be 
cause  she  is  sick  ;  and  Marietta  Winchel  is  working  at  aunt  Syra's  ; 
— I  don't  know — Do  you  remember  Barby  Elster,  that  used  to  live 
with  me  ?  " 

"Oyes!" 

"She  might  go — she  has  been  staying  at  home  these  two  years, 
to  take  care  of  her  old  mother,  that's  the  reason  she  left  me  ;  but 
she  has  another  sister  come  home  now, — Hetty,  that  married  and 
went  to  Montepoole, — she's  lost  her  husband  and  come  home  to 
live  ;  so  perhaps  Barby  would  go  out  again.  But  I  don't  know,— 
how  do  you  think  your  aunt  Lucy  would  get  along  with  her?  " 

"Dear  aunt  Miriam!  you  know  we  must  do  as  we  can.  We 
must  have  somebody." 

"Barby  is  a  little  quick,"  said  Mrs.  Plumfield,  "but  I  think 
she  is  good-hearted,  and  she  is  thorough,  and  faithful  as  the  day  is 
long.  If  your  aunt  and  uncle  can  put  up  with  her  ways." 

"  I  am  sure  we  can,  aunt  Miriam.  Aunt  Lucy's  the  easiest  per 
son  in  the  world  to  please,  a^nd  I'll  try  and  keep  her  away  from 
uncle  Rolf.  I  think  we  can  get  along.  I  know  Barby  used  to 
like  me." 

"  But  then  Barby  knows  nothing  about  French  cooking,  my 
child  ;  she  can  do  nothing  but  the  common  country  things.  What 
will  your  uncle  and  aunt  say  to  that !  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Fleda,  "but  anything  is  better  than  noth- 


QUEECffT.  191 

fig.     I  must  try  and  do  what  she  can't  do*     Til  come  up  and  gel 
*OM  to  teach  me,  aunt  Miriam." 

Aunt  Miriam  hugged  and  kissed  her  before  speaking. 

"  I'll  teach  you  what  I  know,  my  darling  ; — and  now  we'll  go 
right  off  and  see  Barby — we  shall  catch  her  just  in  a  good  time," 

It  was  a  poor  little  unpainted  house,  standing  back  from  the  road, 
and  with  a  double  row  of  boards  laid  down  to  serve  as  a  path  cO 
it.  But  this  board-walk  was  scrubbed  perfectly  clean.  They  went 
in  without  knocking.  There  was  nobody  there  but  an  old  woman 
seated  before  the  fire,  shaking  all  over  with  the  St.  Vitus's  Dance. 
She  gave  them  no  salutation,  calling  instead  on  "  Barby  \  "--who 
presently  made  her  appearance  from  the  inner  door. 

"Barby!— who's  this?  " 

"That's  Mis'  Plumfield,  mother,"  said  the  daughter,  speaking 
loud  as  to  a  deaf  person. 

The  old  lady  immediately  got  up  and  dropped  a  very  quick  and 
what  was  meant  to  be  a  very  respect-showing  curtsey,  saying  at  the 
same  time  with  much  deference  and  with  one  of  her  involuntary 
twitches, — "  I  '  'maun  '  to  know  ?  " — The  sense  of  the  ludicrous  and 
the  feeling  of  pity  together  were  painfully  oppressive.  Fleda  turned 
away  to  the  daughter  who  came  forward  and  shook  hands  with  a 
frank  look  of  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  her  elder  visitor. 

"Barby,"  said  Mr?  Plumfield,  "this  is  little  Fleda  Ringgan— 
dr.  you  remember  her?  " 

"  I'  mind  to  know  !  "  said  Barby,  transferring  her  hand  to  Fleda*  s 
and  giving  it  a  good  squeeze.—  "  She's  growed  a  fine  gal,  Mis' 
Plumfield.  You  ha'n't  lost  none  of  your  good  looks — ha*  you  kept 
all  your  old  goodness  along  with  'em?  " 

Fleda  laughed  at  this  abrupt  question,  and  said  she  didn't  know. 

"  If  you  ha'n't,  I  wouldn't  give  much  for  your  eyes,"  said  Barby 
\etting  go  her  hand. 

Mrs.  Plumfield  laughed  too  at  Barby 's  equ:  vocal  mode  of  com 
Alimenting. 

"Who's  that  young  gal,  Barby?"  inquired  Mrs.  Elster. 

"That's  Mis'  Plumfield's  niece,  mother!  " 

"  She's  a  handsome  little  creetur,  ain't  she  ?  " 

They  all  laughed  at  that,  and  Fleda' s  cheeks  growing  £rimson< 
Vlrs.  Plumfield  stepped  forward  to  ask  after  the  old  lady's  health? 
md  while  she  talked  and  listened  Meda's  eyes  noted  the  spotless 
condition  of  the  room — the  white  table,  the  nice  rag-carpet,  the 
bright  many-colored  patch-work  counterpane  on  the  bed,  the  bril 
liant  cleanliness  of  the  floor  where  the  small  carpet  left  the  boards 
bare,  the  tidy  look  of  the  two  women  ;  and  she  made  up  her  mind 
that  she  could  get  along  with  Miss  Barbara  very  well.  Barby  was 
rather  tall,  and  in  face  decidedly  a  fine-looking  woman,  though 
her  figure' had  the  usual  scantling  proportions  which  nature  or  fashion 
assigns  to  the  hard-working  dwellers  in  the  country.  A,hanusome 
quick  grey  eye  and  the  mouth  were  sufficiently  expressive  of  charac 
ter,  and  perhaps  of  temper,  but  there  were  no  lines  of  anything  sin« 
ister  or  surly  ;  yon  could  imagine  a  flash,  but  not  a  cloud. 

"  Barby,  you   are  not  tied  at  home  any  longer,  are  you  ?  "  said 
Mrs.    FiumfleM,    coming   back  from  the   old  lady   and   speaking? 
13 


194  OUEECHY. 

rather  low ; — ••  now  laat  Ketty  is  here  can't    your  mother  spar* 
vou?" 

"  Well  I  Beckon  she  could,  Mis'  Plumfield, — if  I  could  work  it  so 
that  she'd  be  more  comfortable  by  my  being  away." 

"  Then  you'd  have  no  objection  to  go  out  again  ?  " 

"Where  to?" 

"  Fleda's  uncle,  you  know,  has  taken  my  brother's  old  place- 
and  they  have  no  help.  They  want  somebody  to  take  the  whole 
management — just  you,  Barby.  Mrs.  Rossitur  isn't  strong." 

"  Nor  don't  want  to  be,  does  she?  I've  heerd  tell  of  her.  M5s: 
Plumfield,  1  should  despise  to  have  as  many  legs  and  arms  ar.  othei 
folks  and  not  be  able  to  help  myself!  " 

"  But  you  wouldn't  despise  to  help  other  folks,  I  hope,"  said 
Mrs.  Plumfield  smiling. 

"  People  that  want  you  very  much  too,"  said  Fleda  ;  for  she 
quite  longed  to  have  that  strong  hand  and  healthy  eye  to  rely  upon 
at  home.  Barby  looked  at  her  with  a  relaxed  face,  and  after  a  little 
consideration  said  "  she  guessed  she'd  try." 

"Mis'  Plumfield,"  cried  the  old  lady  as  they  were  moving, — 
"  Mis'  Plumfield,  you  said  you'd  send  me  a  piece  of  pork." 

"  I  haven't  forgotten  it,  Mrs.  Elster — you  shall  have  it." 

"  Weil  you  get  it  out  for  me  yourself,"  said  the  old  woman  speak 
ing  very  energetical] y, — "  don't  you  send  no  one  else  to  the  barrel 
for't ;  because  I  know  you'll  give  me  the  biggest  piece." 

Mrs.  Plumfield  laughed  and  promised. 

I'll  come  up  and  work  it  out  some  odd  day,"  said  the  daughter 
nodding  intelligently  as  she  followed  them  to  the  door. 
«  We'll  talk  about  that,"  said  Mrs.  Plumfield. 

"She  vas  wonderful  pleased  with  the  pie,"  said  Barby,  "and 
so  was  Hetty  ;  she  ha'n't  seen  anything  so  good,  she  says,  since  she 
quit  Queechy." 

"  Well  Barby,"  said  Mrs.  Plumfield,  as  she  turned  and  grasped 
her,  hand,  "  did  you  remember  your  Thanksgiving  over  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mis'  Plumfield,"  and  the  fine  grey  eyes  fell  to  the  floor, — 
"  but  I  minded  it  only  because  it  had  come  from  you.  I  seemed 
to  hear  you  saying  just  that  out  of  every  bone  I  picked-'1 

"  You  minded  my  message,"  said  the  other  gently. 

"  Well  I  don't  mind  the  things,  I  had  ought  to  most,"  said  Barby 
in  a  subdued  voice, — "never! — 'cept  mother — I  ain't  very  apt  to 
forget  her.'4 

Mrs.  Pumfield  saw  a  tell-tale  glittering  beneath  the  drooping  eye 
lid.  She  added  no  more  but  a  sympathetic  strong  squeeze  of  the 
hand  she  held,  and  turned  to  follow  Fleda  who  had  gone  on  ahead, 

"  Mis'  Plumfield  !  "  said  Barby,  before  they  had  reached  the  stile 
that  led  into  the  road,  where  Fleda  was  standing, — "  Will  I  be  sure 
of  having  the  money  regular  down  yonder?  You  know  I  hadn't 
ought  to  go  otherways,  on  account  of  mother." 

"Yes,  it  will  be  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Plumfield, — "and  regular;" 
adding  quietly,  "  I'll  make  it  so." 

There  was  a  bond  for  the  whole  amount  in  aunt  Miriam's  eyes  ; 
and  quite  satisfied,  Barby  went  back  to  the  house. 

"  Will  she  expect  to  come  to  our  table,  aunt  Miriam  ?  "  said  Fieda 
when  they  had  walked  a  little  way. 


QUEECtiY.  795 

«•  No — she  will  not  expect  that — but  Barby  will  want  a  different 
&ind  of  managing  from  those  Irish  women  of  yours.  She  won't 
bear  to  be  spoken  to  in  a  way  that  don't  suit  her  notions  of  what  she 
thinks  she  deserves  ;  and  perhaps  your  aunt  and  uncle  will  think  her 
notions  rather  high — I  don't  know." 

"There  is  no  difficulty  with  aunt  Lucy,"  said  Fleda  ; — «•  and  I 
guess  I  can  manage  uncle  Rolf — I'll  try.  /  like  her  very  much." 

"  Barby  is  very  poor,"  said  Mrs.  Plumfield  ;  "  she  has  nothing 
but  her  own  earnings  to  support  herself  and  her  old  mother,  and  now 
I  suppose  her  sister  and  her  child  ;  for  Hetty  is  a  poor  thing — never 
did  much  and  now  I  suppose  does  nothing." 

"  Are  those  Finns  poor,  aunt  Miriam  ?  " 

"  O  no — not  at  all — they  are  very  well  off.'* 

"So  I  thought — they  seemed  to  have  plenty  of  everything,  and 
jilver  spoons  and  all — But  why  then  do  they  go  out  to  work  ?  " 

"  They  are  a  little  too  fond  of  getting  money  I  expect,"  said  aunt 
Miriam.  "And  they  are  a  queer  sort  of  people  rather — the  mothet 
is  queer  and  the  children  are  queer — they  ain't  like  other  folks  ex 
actly — never  were." 

"  I  am  very  glad  we  are  to  have  Barby  instead  of  that  Lucy 
Finn,"  said  Fleda.  "O  aunt  Miriam!  you  can't  think  how  much 
easier  my  heart  feels." 

"  Poor  child  !  "  said  aunt  Miriam  looking  at  her.  "  But  it  isn't 
best,  Fleda,  to  have  things  work  too  smooth  in  this  world." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  said  Fleda  sighing.  "  Isn't  if  very  strange, 
aunt  Miriam,  that  it  should  make  people  worse  instead  of  better  to 
have  everything  go  pleasantly  with  them  ?  " 

"  It  is  because  they  are  apt  then  to  be  so  full  of  the  present  that 
they  forget  the  care  of  the  future." 

"  Yes  and  forget  there  is  anything  better  than  the  present,  I  sup 
pose,"  said  Fleda. 

"  So  we  mustn't  fret  at  the  ways  our  Father  takes  to  keep  us  from 
hurting  ourselves?"  said  aunt  Miriam  qheerfully. 

"  O  no  !  "  said  Fleda,  looking  up  brightly  in  answer  to  the  tender 
manner  in  which  these  words  were  spoken  ; — "and  I  didn't  mean 
that  this  is  much  of  a  trouble — only  I  am  very  glad  to  think  that 
somebody  is  coming  to-morrow." 

Aunt  Miriam  thought  that  gentle  unfretful  face  could  not  stand  IB 
aeed  of  much  discipline. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Wise  men  alway 

Affyrme  and  say,  • 

That  best  is  for  a  man, 

Diligently, 

For  to  apply, 

The  business  that  he  can. 

MORE. 

FLEDA  waited  for  Barby's  coming  the  next  day  with  a  little  anx 
iety.  The  introduction  and  installation  however  were  happily  got 
over.  Mrs.  Rossitur,  as  Fleda  knew,  was  most  easily  pleased  ;  and 


*96  QU.M1CJ1Y. 

Barby  Elstei's  quick  eye  was  sdiisfied  with  the  unaffected  and  unV 
versal  gentleness  and  politeness  of  her  new  employer.  She  made 
herself  at  home  in  half  an  hour  ;  and  Mrs.  Rossiturand  Fleda  were 
rpmforted  to  perceive,  by  unmistakable  signs,  that  their  presence 
was  not  needed  in  the  kitchen  and  they  might  retire  to  their  own 

E  remises  and  forget  there  was  another  part  of  the  house.  Fleda 
ad  forgotten  it  utterly,  and  deliciously  enjoying  the  rest  of  mind 
and  body  she  was  stretched  upon  the  sofa,  luxuriating  over  some 
volume  from  her  remnant  of  a  library  ;  when  the  inner  door  was 
suddenly  pushed  open  far  enough  to  admit  of  the  entrance  of  Misr 
Sister's  head. 

"  Where's  the  soft  soap  ?  " 

Fleda1  s  book  went  down  and  her  heart  jumped  to  her  mouth,  foi 
her  uncle  was  sitting  over  by  the  window.  Mrs.  Rossitur  looked 
up  in  a  maze  and  waited  for  the  question  to  be  repeated. 

"  I  say,  where's  the  soft  soap  ?  " 

"  Soft  soap!  "  said  Mrs.  Rossitur, — "  I  don't  know  whether  there 
is  any. — Fleda,  do  you  know?" 

•'I  was  trying  to  think,  aunt  Lucy — I  don't  believe  there  is  any.' 

"  Where  is  it  ?  "  said  Barby. 

"  There  is  none,  I  believe,"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur. 

"  Where  was  it,  then  ?  " 

••  Nowhere — there  has  not  been  any  in  the  house,"  said  Fleda, 
raising  herself  up  to  see  over  the  back  of  her  sofa. 

"  There  ha'-n't  been  none  !  "  said  Miss  Elster,  in  a  tone  more  sig 
nificant  than  her  words,  and  shutting  the  door  as  abruptly  as  she 
had  opened  it. 

"  What  upon  earth  does  the  woman  mean?  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Ros 
situr,  springing  up  and  advancing  toward  the  kitchen  door.  Fled? 
threw  herself  before  him. 

"  Nothing  at  all,  uncle  Rolf— she  doesn't  mean  anything  at  all—' 
she  doesn't  know  any  better." 

"  I  will  improve  her  knowledge — get  out  of  the  way,  Fleda." 

41  But  uncle  Rolf,  just  hear  me  one  moment — please  don't !— she 
didn't  mean  any  harm — these  people  don't  know  any  manners — just 
4et  me  speak  to  her,  please  uncle  Rolf! — "  said  Fleda  laying  both 
hands  upon  her  uncle's  arms, — "  I'll  manage  her." 

Mr.  Rossitur' s -wrath  was  high,  and  he  would  have  run  over  or 
knocked  down  anything  less  gentle  that  had  stood  in  his  way  ;  but 
even  the  harshness  of  strength  shuns  to  set  itself  in  array  against 
the  meekness  that  does  not  oppose  ;  if  the  touch  of  those  hands  had 
been  a  whit  less  light,  or  the  glance  of  her  eye  less  submissively 
appealingr  it  would  have  availed  nothing.  As  it  was,  he  stopped 
and  looked  at  her,  at  first  scowling,  but  then  with  a  smile. 

"  You  manage  her  !  "  said  he. 

"Yes,  "said  Fleda  laughing,  and  now  exerting  her  force  she 
gently  pushed  him  back  toward  the  seat  he  had  quitted, — "yes, 
uncle  Rolf — you've  enough  else  to  manage — don't  undertake  our 
•  help.'  Deliver  over  all  your  displeasure  upon  me  when  anything 
goes  wrong — I  will  be  the  conductor  to  carry  it  off  safely  into  the 
kitchen  and  discharge  it  just  at  that  point  where  I  think  it  will  do 
\nost  execution.  Now  will  you  uncle  Rolf? — Because  we  have  got 
a  new-fashioned  piece  of  lirearms  in  the  other  room  that  I  am  afrai4 


QVEECHY.  191 

mil  go  off  unexpectedly  if  it  is  meddled  with  by  an  unskilful  hand ; 
—and  that  would  leave  us  without  arms,  you  see,  or  with  only  aunt 
Lucy's  and  mine,  which  are  not  reliable." 

"  You  saucy  girl!  " — said  her  uncle,  who  was  laughing  partly  at 
and  partly  with  her, — "  I  don't  know  what  you  deserve  exactly. — 
Well — keep  this  precious  new  operative  of  yours  out  of  my  waf 
and  I'll  take  care  to  keep  out  of  hers.  But  mind,  you  mu& 
manage  not  to  have  your  piece  snapping  in  my  face  in  this  fashion, 
for  I  won't  stand  it." 

And  so,  quieted,  Mr.  Rossitur  sat  down  to  his  book  again  ;  and 
Fleda  leaving  hers  open  went  to  attend  upon  Barby. 

"There  ain't  much  yallow  soap  neither,"  said  this  personage,— 
•'if  this  is  all.  There's  one  thing — if  we  ha'n't  got  it  we  can  make 
it.  I  must  get  Mis'  Rossitur  to  have  a  leach  tub  sot  up  right  away. 
I'm  a  dreadful  hand  for  havin'  plenty  o'  soap." 

"  What  is  a  leach-tub  ?  "  said  Fleda. 

"  Why,  a  leach-tub,  for  to  leach  ashes  in.  That's  easy  enough. 
I'll  fix  it,  afore  we're  any  on  us  much  older.  If  Mr.  Rossitur  '11 
keep  me  in  good  hard  wood  I  sha'n't  cost  him  hardly  anything 
for  potash." 

"  I'll  see  about  it,"  said  Fleda,  "and  I  will  see  about  having 
the  leach-tub,  or  whatever  it  is,  put  up  for  you.  And  Barby, 
whenever  you  want  anything,  will  you  just  speak  to  me  about  it? 
— and  if  I  am  in  the  other  room  ask  me  to  come  out  here.  Be 
cause  my  aunt  is  not  strong,  and  does  not  know  where  things  are 
as  well  as  I  do  ;  and  when  my  uncle  is  in  there  he  sometimes 
does  not  like  to  be  disturbed  with  hearing  any  such  talk.  If  you'll 
tell  me  I'll  see  and  have  everything  done  for  you." 

«•  Well — you  get  me  a  leach  sot  up — that's  all  I'll  ask  of  you  just 
now,"  sa'id  Barby  good-humotedly  ; — "and  help  me  to  find  the 
soap-grease,  if  there  is  any.  As  to  the  rest,  I  don't  want  to  see 
nothin'  o'  him  in  the  kitchen  so  I'll  relieve  him  if  he  don't  want 
to  see  much  o'  me  in  the  parlor. — I  shouldn't  wonder  if  there 
wa'n't  a  speck  of  it  in  the  house." 

Not  a  speck  was  there  to  be  found. 

"  Your  uncle's  pockets  must  ha'  had  a  good  hole  in  'em  by 
this  time,"  remarked  Barby  as  they  came  back  from  the  cellar. 
"  However,  there  never  was  a  crock  so  empty  it  couldn't  be  filled. 
You  get  me  a  leach-tub  sot  up,  and  I'll  find  work  for  it." 

From  that  time  Fleda  had  no  more  trouble  with  her  uncle  and 
Barby.  Each  seemed  to  have  a  wholesome  appreciation  of  the 
other's  combative  qualities  and  to  shun  them.  With  Mrs.  Rossitur 
Barby  was  soon  all-powerful.  It  was  enough  that  she  wanted  a 
thing,  if  Mrs.  Rossitur's  own  resources  could  compass  it.  For 
Fleda,  to  say  that  Barby  had  presently  a  perfect  understanding 
<vith  her  and  joined  to  that  a  most  affectionate  careful  regard,  is 
not  perhaps  saying  much  ;  for  it  was  true  of  every  one  without  ex 
ception  with  whom  Fleda  had  much  to  do.  Barby  was  to  all  of 
them  a  very  great  comfort  and  stand-by. 

It  was  well  for  them  that  they  had  her  within  doors  to  keep 
things,  as  she  called  it,  "right  and  tight;"  for  abroad  the  ort.y 
system  in  vogue  was  one  of  fluctuation  and  uncertainty.  Mr.  Ros- 
sicur's  Irishman,  Donohan.  staid  his  year  out,  doing  as  little  good 


1»8  QUEECJFY. 

and  at  mucft  at  least  negative  harm  as  he  well  taufc? ;  and  then 
went,  leaving  them  a  good  deal  poorer  than  lit  fourid  thtm.  Dr. 
Gregory's  generosity  had  added  to  Mr.  Rossitur's  own  small  stock 
of  reajdy  money,  giving  him  the  means  to  make  some  needed  out 
lays  on  the  farm.  But  the  outlay,  ill-applied,  had  been  greater 
than  the  income  ;  a  scarcity  of  money  began  to  be  more  and  more 
felt ;  and  the  comfort  of  the  family  accordingly  drew  within  more 
and  more  narrow  bounds.  The  temper  of  the  head  of  the  family 
suffered  in  at  least  equal  degree. 

From  the  first  of  Barby's  coming  poor  Fleda  had  done  her  ut* 
most  to  prevent  the  want  of  Mons.  Emiie  from  being  felt.  Mr. 
•Rossitur's  table  was  always  set  by  her  ca/eful  hand,  and  all  the 
delicacies  that  came  upon  it  were,  unknown  to  him,  of  her  provid 
ing.  Even  tht  bread.  One  day  at  breakfast  Mr.  Rossitur  had 
expressed  his  impatient  displeasure  at  that  of  Miss  Elster's  manu 
facture.  Fleda  Raw  the  distressed  shade  that  came  ever  her  aunt's 
face,  and  took  her  resolution.  It  was  the  last  time.  She  had  fol 
lowed  her  plan  of  sending  for  the  receipts,  and  she  studied  them 
diligently,  both  at  home  and  under  aunt  Miriam.  Natural  quick 
ness  of  eye  and  hand  came  in  aid  of  her  affectionate  zsal,  and  it 
was  not  long  before  she  could  trust  herself  to  undertake  any  opera 
tion  in  the  whole  range  of  her  cookery  book.  But  meanwhile  ma 
terials  were  growing  scarce  and  hard  to  come  by.  The  delicate 
French  rolls  which  were  now  always  ready  for  her  uncle's  plate  in 
the  morning  had  sometimes  nothing  to  back  them,  unless  the  un 
failing  water-cress  from  the  good  little  spring  in  the  meadow.  Fleda 
could  not  spare  her  eggs,  for  perhaps  they  might  have  nothing  else 
to  depend  upon  for  dinner.  It  was  no  burden  to  her  to  do  these 
things ;  she  had  a  sufficient  reward  in  seeing  that  her  aunt  and 
Hugh  eat  the  better  and  that  her  uncle's  brow  was  clear ;  but  it 
was  a  burden  when  her  hands  were  tied  by  the  lack  of  means  ;  for 
she  knew  the  failure  of  the  usual  supply  was  bitterly  felt,  not  for 
the  actual  want,  but  for  that  other  want  which  it  implied  and  pre 
figured. 

On  the  first  dismissal  of  Donohan  Fleda  hoped  for  a  good  turn 
of  affairs.  But  Mr.  Rossitur,  disgusted  with  his  first  experiment 
resolved  this  season  to  be  his  own  head  man ;  and  appointed  Lucas 
Springer  the  second  in  command,  with  a  posse  of  laborers  to  exe 
cute  his  decrees.  It  did  not  work  well.  Mr.  Rossitur  found  he  had 
a  very  tough  prime  minister,  who  would  have  every  one  of  his 
plans  to  go  through  a  kind  of  winnowing  process  by  being  tossed 
about  in  an  argument.  The  arguments  were  interminable,  until 
Mr.  Rossitur  not  unfrequently  quit  the  field  with,  "  Well,  do  what 
you  like  about  it!" — not  conquered,  but  wearied.  The  laborers, 
either  from  want  of  ready  money  or  of  what  they  called  "man 
ners  "  in  their  employer,  fell  off  at  the  wrong  times,  just  when  they 
were  most  wanted.  Hugh  trirew  himself  then  into  the  breach  and 
wrought  beyond  his  strength  ;  and  that  tried  Fleda  worst  of  all. 
She  was  glad  to  see  haying  and  harvest  pass  over  ;  but  the  change 
of  seasons  seemed  to  bring  only  a  change  of  disagreeableness,  and 
she  could  not  find  that  hope  had  any  better  breathing-time  in  the 
ihort  days  of  winter  than  in  the  long  days  of  summer.  Her  gentk 


QVEECHY.  If 

face  gre*  more  gentle  than  ever,  for  under  the  shade  of  sorrowful 
patience  which  was  always  there  now  its  meekness  had  no  eclipse. 

Mrs.  Rossitur  was  struck  with  it  one  morning.  She  was  coming 
down  from  her  room  and  saw  Fleda  standing  on  the  landing-place 
gazing  out  of  the  window.  It  was  before  breakfast  one  cold  morn 
ing  in  winter.  Mrs.  Rossilur  put  her  arms  round  her  softly  and 
kissed  her. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  dear  Fleda? — you  ought  not  to 
be  standing  here." 

"  I  was  looking  at  Hugh,"  said  Fleda,  and  her  eye  went  back 
2o  the  window.  Mrs.  Rossitur's  followed  it.  The  window  gave 
them  a  view  of  the  ground  behind  the  house;  and  there  was  Hugh, 
just  coming  in  with  a  large  armful  of  heavy  wood  which  he  had 
been  sawing. 

"  He  isn't  strong  enough  to  do  that,  aunt  Lucy,"  said  Fleda 
softly. 

"  I  know  it,"  said  his  mother  in  a  subdued  tone,  and  not  moving 
her  eye,  though  Hugh  had  disappeared. 

"It  is  too  cold  for  him — he  is  too  thinly  clad  to  bear  this  expos 
ure,"  said  Fleda  anxiously. 

"  I  know  it,"  said  his  mother  again. 

"  Can't  you  tell  uncle  Rolf? — can't  you  get  him  to  do  it  ?  I  am 
afraid  Hugh  will  hurt  himself,  aunt  Lucy." 

"  I  did  tell  him  the  other  day — I  did  speak  to  him  about  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Rossitur  ;  "  but  he  said  there  was  no  reason  why  Hugh  should 
do  it, — there  were  plenty  of  other  people — " 

"  But  how  can  he  say  so  when  he  knows  we  never  can  ask  Lucas 
to  do  anything  of  the  kind,  and  that  other  man  always  contrives  to 
be  out  of  the  way  when  he  is  wanted  ? — Oh  what  is  he  thinking 
of?" — said  Fleda  bitterly,  as  she  saw  Hugh  again  at  his  work. 

It  was  so  rarely  that  Fleda  was  seen  to  shed  tears  that  they 
always  were  a  signal  of  dismay  to  any  of  the  household.  There 
was  even  agony  in  Mrs.  Rossitur's  voice  as  she  implored  her  not 
to  give  way  to  them.  But  notwithstanding  that,  Fleda's  tears  came 
this  time  from  too  deep  a  spring  to  be  stopped  at  once. 

"  It  makes  me  feel  as  if  all  was  lost,  Fleda,  when  I  see  you  do 
so." — 

Fleda  put  her  arms  about  her  neck  and  whispered  that  "she 
would  not  " — that  "  she  should  not  " — 

Yet  it  was  a  little  while  before  she  could  say  any  more. 

"  But  aunt  Lucy,  he  doesn't  know  what  he  is  doing !  " 

"  No — and  I  can't  make  him  know.  I  cannot  say  anything 
more,  Fleda — it  would  do  no  good.  I  don't  know  what  is  thf 
matter — he  is  entirely  changed  from  what  he  used  to  be — " 

"  I  know  what  is  the  matter,"  said  Fleda,  now  turning  comforter 
in  her  turn  as  her  aunt's  tears  fell  more  quietly,  because  more  de 
spairingly,  than  her  own, — "  I  know  what  it  is — he  is  not  happy  ; — 
that  is  all.  He  has  not  succeeded  well  in  these  farm  doings,  and 
he  wants  money,  and  he  is  worried — it  is  no  wonder  if  he  don't 
seem  exactly  as  he  used  to." 

"And  oh,  that  troubles  me  most  of  all!"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur. 
"The  farm  is  bringing  in  nothing,  I  know, — he  don't  know  how  tf 
get  along  with  it,— I  was  afraid  it  would  b$  .90  ;— and  we  art  p*f 


WO  QUEECHY. 

ing  nothing  to  uncle  Orrin — and  it  is  just  a  dead  weight  on  his 
hands; — and  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it! — And  what  will  it  come 
t*!— " 

Mrs.  Rossitur  was  now  in  her  turn  surprised  into  showing  the 
strength  of  her  sorrows  and  apprehensions.  Fleda  was  fain  to  put 
her  own  out  of  sight  and  bend  her  utmost  powers  to  soothe  and 
compose  her  aunt,  till  they  could  both  go  down  to  the  breakfast 
table.  She  had  got  ready  a  nice  little  dish  that  her  uncle  was  very 
.ond  of ;  but  her  pleasure  in  it  was  all  gone  ;  and  indeed  it  seemed 
to  be  thrown  away  upon  the  whole  table.  Half  the  meal  was  over 
before  anybody  said  a  word. 

"  I  am  going  to  wash  my  hands  of  these  miserable  farm  affairs," 
said  Mr.  Rossitur. 

"  Are  you  !  "  said  his  wife. 

•Yes, — of  all  personal  concern  in  them,  that  is.     I  am  wearied 
t     death  with  the  perpetual  annoyances  and  vexations,  and  petty 
ills  upon  my  time — life  is  not  worth  having  at  such  a  rate  !     I'll 
ave  done  with  it." 

"  You  will  give  up  the  entire  charge  to  Lucas?"  said  Mrs.  Ros« 
situr. 

"Lucas! — No! — I  wouldn't  undergo  that  man's  tongue  for  an 
other  year  if  he  would  take  out  his  wages  in  talking.  I  could  not 
have  more  of  it  in  that  case  than  I  have  had  the  last  six  months. 
After  money,  the  thing  that  man  loves  best  is  certainly  the  sound 
of  his  own  voice;  and  a  most  insufferable  egotist!  No, — I  have 
been  talking  with  a  man  who  wants  to  take  the  whole  farm  for  two 
years  upon  shares — that  will  clear  me  of  all  trouble." 

There  was  sober  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  Mrs.  Rossi 
tur  asked  who  it  was. 

"  His  name  is  Didenhover." 

41 0  uncle  Rolf,  don't  have  anything  to  do  with  him !  "  exclaimed 
Fleda. 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  he  lived  with  grandpa  a  great  while  ago,  and  behaved 
verv  ill.  Grandpa  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble  with  him." 

"  How  old  were  you  then?" 

I   was  young,  to  be  sure,"  said  Fleda  hanging  her  head,  "  bat 
ember  very  well  how  it  was." 

i'ou  may  have  occasion  to  remember  it  a  second  time,"  said 
.  Rossitur  dryly,    "  for  the   thing   is  done.      I   have   engaged 

11     SI. 

Not  another  word  was  spoken. 

Mr.  Rossitur  went  out  after  breakfast,  and  Mrs.  Rossitur  busied 
herself  with  the  breakfast  cups  and  a  tub  of  hot  water,  a  work  she 
never  would  let  Fleda  share  with  her  and  which  lasted  in  conse 
quence  long  enough,  Barby  said,  to  cook  and  eat  three  break 
fasts.  Fleda  and  Hugh  sat  looking  at  the  floor  and  the  fire  re 
spectively. 

"  I  am  going  up  the  hill  to  get  a  sight  of  aunt  Miriam,"  said 
Fleda,  bringing  her  eyes  from  the  fire  upon  her  aunt. 

"Well  dear,  do.  You  have  been  shut  up  long  enough  by  the 
anew.  Wrap  yourself  up  well,  and  put  on  my  snow-boots." 

"  No  indeed  !  "  said  Fleda.     "  I  shall  just  draw  on  another  pait 


201 

»f  stockings  over  my  shoes,  within  my  India-rubbers — 1  will  take  a 
pair  of  Hugh's  woollen  ones." 

"  What  has  become  of  your  own?  "  said  Hugh. 

"  My  own  what?     Stockings?" 

"  Snow-boots." 

"Worn  out,  Mr.  Rossitur !  I  have  run  them  to  death,  poor 
things.  Is  that  a  slight  intimation  that  you  are  afraid  of  the  same 
fate  for  your  socks?  " 

"  No,"  said  Hugh,  smiling  in  spite  of  himself  at  her  manner,— 
"  I  will  lend  you  anything  I  have  got,  Fleda." 

His  tone  put  Fleda  in  mind  of  the  very  doubtful  pretensions  of 
the  socks  in  question  to  be  comprehended  under  the  term  ;  she  was 
silent  a  minute. 

"  Will  you  go  with  me,  Hugh  ?" 

"  No  dear,  i  can't ; — I  must  get  a  little  ahead  with  the  wood  while 
1  can  ;  it  looks  as  if  it  would  snow  again  ;  and  Barby  isn't  pro 
vided  for  more  than  a  day  or  two." 

14  And  how  for  this  fire  ?  " 

Hugh  shook  his  head,  and  rose  up  to  go  forth  into  the  kite  hen. 
Fleda  went  too,  linking  her  arm  in  his  and  bearing  affectionately 
jpon  it,  a  sort  of  tacit  saying  that  they  would  sink  or  swim  together. 
Hugh  understood  it  perfectly. 

"  I  am v  very  sorry  you  have  to  do  it,  dear  Hugh — Oh  that  wood- 
>hed  ! — if  it  had  only  been  made  ! — " 

"  Never  mind — can't  help  it  now — we  shall  get  through  the  winter 
by  and  by." 

••  Can't  you  get  uncle  Rolf  to  help  you  a  little?"  whispered 
Fleda ; — "  It  would  do  him  good." 

But  Hugh  only  shook  his  head. 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do  for  dinner,  Barby?"  said  Fleda,  still 
Holding  Hugh  there  before  the  fire. 

"Ain't  much  choice,"  said  Barby.  "  It  would  puzzle  anybody 
:o  spell  much  more  out  of  it  than  pork  and  ham.  There's  plenty  o' 
{hem.  /  shan't  starve  this  some  time." 

"  But  we  had  ham  yesterday  and  pork  the  day  before  yesterday 
and  ham  Monday,"  said  Fleda.  "There  is  plenty  of  vegetables, 
thanks  to  you  and  me,  Hugh,"  she  said  with  a  little  reminding 
squeeze  of  his  arm.  "  I  could  make  soups  nicely,  if  I  had  anything 
lo  make  them  of !  " 

"  There's  enough  to  be  had  for  the  catching,"  said  Barby.  "  If 
I  hadn't  a  man-mountain  of  work  upon  me,  I'd  start  out  and  shooi 
or  steal  something." 

"  You  shoot,  Barby  !  "  said  Fleda  laughing. 

"  I  guess  I  can  do  'most  anything  I  set  my  hand  to.  If  I 
couldn't  I'd  shoot  myself.  It  won't  do  to  kill  no  more  of  them 
chickens." 

"  O  no, — now  they  are  laying  so  finely.  Well,  I  am  going  up 
the  hill,  and  when  I  come  home  I'll  try  and  make  up  something, 
Barby." 

"  Earl  Douglass  '11  go  out  in  the  woods  now  and  then,  of  a  day 
when  he  ha' n't  no  work  particular  to  do,  and  fetch  hum  as  many 
pigeons  and  woodchucks  as  you  could  shake  a  stick  at." 

••  Hugh,  my  dear,"  said  Fleda  laughing,  "  it's  a  pity  you  aren't 


»02  QUEECHT. 

a  hunter — I  would  shake  a  stick  at  you  with  great  pleasure.  Well 
Barby,  we  will  see  when  I  come  home." 

"  I  was  just  a  thinkin,"  said  Barby  ; — "  Mis'  Douglass  sent 
r»und  to  know  if  Mis'  Rossitur  would  like  a  piece  of  rresh  meat — 
Earl's  been  killing  a  sheep — there  s  a  nice  quarter,  she  says,  if  she'd 
like  to  have  it." 

"A  quarter  of  mutton!" — said  Fleda, — "I  don't  know — no,  I 
think  not,  Barby  ;  I  don't  know  when  we  should  be  able  to  pay  it 
back  again. — And  yet — Hugh,  do  you  think  uncle  Rolf  will  kill 
another  sheep  this  winter  ? ' ' 

"I  am  sure  he  will  not,"  said  Hugh; — "there  have  so  many 
died." 

"If  he  only  knowed  it,  that  is  a  reason  for  killing  more,"  said 
Barby, — "  and  have  the  good  of  them  while  he  can." 

"  Tell  Mrs.  Douglass  we  are  obliged  to  her  but  we  do  not  want 
the  mutton,  Barby." 

Hugh  went  to  his  chopping  and  Fleda  set  out  upon  her  walk  ; 
the  lines  of  her  face  settling  into  a  most  fixed  gravity  so  soon  as  she 
turned  away  from  the  house.  It  was  what  might  be  called  a  fine 
winter's  day  ;  cold  and  still,  and  the  sky  covered  with  one  uniform 
grey  cloud.  The  snow  lay  in  uncompromising  whiteness  ihick  over 
all  the  world  ;  a  kindly  shelter  for  the  young  grain  and  covering 
for  the  soil ;  but  Fleda's  spirits  just  then  in  another  mood  saw  in  it 
•illy  the  cold  refusal  to  hope  and  the  barren  check  to  exertion.  The 
wind  had  cleared  the  snow  from  the  trees  and  fences,  and  they 
stood  in  all  their  unsoftened  blackness  and  nakedness,  bleak  and 
stern.  The  high  grey  sky  threatened  a  fresh  fall  of  snow  in  a  few 
hours;  it  was  just  now  a  lull  between  two  storms  ;  and  Fleda's 
spirits,  that  sometimes  would  have  laughed  in  the  face  of  nature's 
soberness,  to-day  sank  to  its  own  quiet.  Her  pace  neither  slackened 
nor  quickened  till  she  reached  aunt  Miriam's  house  and  entered  the 
kitchen. 

Aunt  Miriam  was  in  high  tide  of  business  over  a  pot  of  boiling 
lard,  and  the  enormous  bread-tray  by  the  side  of  the  fire  was  half 
full  of  very  tempting  light-brown  cruller,  which  however  were  little 
more  than  a  kind  of  sweet  bread  for  the  workmen.  In  the  bustle 
of  putting  in  and  taking  out  aunt  Miriam  could  give  her  visitor 
but  a  word  and  a  look.  Fleda  pulled  off  her  hood  and  sitting  down 
watched  in  unusual  silence  the  old  lady's  operations. 

"And  how  are  they  all  at  your  house  to-day?"  aunt  Miriam 
asked  as  she  was  carefully  draining  her  cruller  out  of  the  ket 
tle. 

Fleda  answered  that  they  were  as  well  as  usual,  but  a  slight 
hesitation  and  the  tell-tale  tone  of  her  voice  made  the  old  lady 
look  at  her  more  narrowly.  She  came  near  and  kissed  that  gentle 
brow  and  looking  in  her  eyes  asked  her  what  the  matter  was? 

"  I  don't  know, — "  said  Fleda,  eyes  and  voice  wavering  alike, — 
"  I  am  foolish,  I  believe, — " 

Aunt  Miriam  tenderly  put  aside  the  hair  from  her  forehead  and 
fcissed  it  again,  but  the  cruller  was  burning  and  she  went  back  to 
the  kettle. 

"  I  got  down-hearted  somehow  this  morning,"  Fleda  wenf  on, 
frying  to  steady  her  voice  and  school  herself. 


QUEECHY.  303 

••  You  down-hearted,  dear?    About  whnt?" 
There  was  a  world  of  sympathy  in  these  words,  in  the  warmth  of 
which  Fleda's  shut-up  heart  unfolded  itself  at  once. 

"  It's  nothing  new.  aunt  Miriam,— only  somehow  I  felt  it  particu 
larly  this  morning, — I  have  been  kept  in  the  house  so  long  by  this 
snow  I  have  got  dumpish  I  suppose, — " 

Aunt  Miriam  looked  anxiously  at  the  tears  which  seemed  tc  come 
involuntarily,  but  she  said  nothing. 

"  We  are  not  getting  along  well  at  home." 

"I  supposed  that,"  said  Mrs.  Plumtield  quietly.  "  But  anything 
new?" 

•  Yes— uncle  Rolf  has  let  the  farm— only  think  of  it  I— he  has 
let  the  farm  to  that  Didenhover." 
"  Didenhover! " 
"  For  two  years." 

"  Did  you  tell  him  what  you  knew  about  him  ?" 
"  Yes,  but  it  was  too  late — the  mischief  was  done." 
Aunt  Miriam  went  on  skimming  out  her  cruller  with  a  very  grave 
face. 

"  How  came  your  uncle  to  do  so  without  learning  about  him 
first?" 

"  O  I  don't  know  ! — he  was  in  a  hurry  to  do  anything  that  would 
take  the  trouble  of  the  farm  off  his  hands  ;— he  don't  like  it." 
44  On  what  terms  has  he  let  him  have  it  ?  " 

"On  shares — and  I  know,  I  know,  under  that  Didenhover  it  will 
bring  us  in  nothing,  and  it  has  brought  us  in  nothing  all  the  time 
we  have  been  here  ;  and  I  don't  know  what  we  are  going  to  live 
upon." — 

"  Has  your  uncle  nor  aunt  no  property  at  all  left  ?  " 
"  Not  a  bit — except  some  waste  lands  in  Michigan  I  believe,  that 
were  left  to   aunt  Lucy  a  year  or  two  ago  ;  but  they  are  as  good  as 
nothing." 

"  Has  he  let  Didenhover  have  the  saw-mill  too  ?  '* 
"  I  don't  know — he  didn't  say — if  he  has  there  will  be  nothing  at 
all  left  for  us  to  live  upon.    I  expect  nothing  from  Didenhover, — his 
face  is  enough.     I  should  have  thought  it  might  have  been  for  uncle 
Rolf.     O  if  it  wasn't  for  aunt  Lucy  and  Hugh  I  shouldn't  care  ! — " 
"  What  has  your  uncle  been  doing  all  this  year  past?  " 
"  I  don't  know,  aunt  Miriam, — lie  can't  bear  the  business  and  he 
has  left  the  most  of  it  to  Lucas  ;  and  I  think  Lucas  is  more   of  a 
talker  than  a  doer.     Almost  nothing  has  gone  right.     The  crops 
have  been  ill  managed — I  do  not  know  a  great  deal  about  it  but  \ 
know  enough  for  that;  and  uncle  Rolf  did  not  know  anything  about 
.t  but  what  he  got  from  books.  And  the  r.heep  are  dying  off — Barby 
says  it  is  because  they  were  in  such  poor  condition  at  the  begin 
ning  of  winter,  and  I  dare  say  she  is  right." 

"  He  ought  to  have  had  a  thorough  good  man  at  the  beginning, 
to  get  along  well." 

"  O  yes! — but   he  hadn't,  you  see;  and  so  we  have  just 
growing  poorer  every  month.     And    now,    aunt   Miriam,    I    \f> 
don't  know  from  day  to  day  what  to  do  to  get  dinner.     Yen;  '  i,< 
for  a  good  while  after   we  came   we  used   to  have  oui  mar kcii: 
brought  every  tew  days  from  Albany  ;  but  we  have  run  up  such  a  b 


504 

there  already  au,  *he  butcher's  as  I  don't  know  when  in  the  world 
will  get  paid ;  and  aunt  Lucy  and  I  will  do  anything  before  we 
will  send  for  any  more  ;  and  if  it  wasn't  for  her  and  Hugh  I  wouldn't 
care,  but  they  haven't  much  appetite,  and  I  know  that  all  this  takes 
what  little  they  have  away — this,  and  seeing  the  effect  it  has  upon 
uncle  Rolf " 

"  Does  he  think  so  much  more  of  eating  than  of  anything  else  ?  " 
said  aunt  Miram. 

"Oh  no,  it  is  not  that !  "  said  Fleda  earnestly, — "it  is  not  that  at  all 
—he  is  not  a  great  eater — but  he  can't  bear  to  have  things  different 
from  what  they  used  to  be  and  from  what  they  ought  to  be — O  no( 
don't  think  that!  I  don't  know  whether  I  ought  to  have  said  what  I 
have  said,  but  I  couldn't  help  it — " 

Fleda's  voice  was  lost  for  a  little  while. 

"He  is  changed  from  what  he  used  to  be — a  little  thing  vexes 
him  now,  and  I  know  it  is  because  he  is  not  happy  ; — he  used  to  be 
so  kind  and  pleasant,  and  he  is  still,  sometimes  ;  but  aunt  Lucy's 
face— Oh  aunt  Miriam  ! — " 

"  Why,  dear  ?  "  said  aunt  Miriam  tenderly. 

"  It  is  so  changed  from  what  it  used  to  be  !  " 

Poor  Fleda  covered  her  own,  and  aunt  Miriam  came  to  her  side 
to  give  softer  and  gentler  expression  to  sympathy  than  words  could 
do  ;  till  the  bowed  face  was  raised  again  and  hid  in  her  neck. 

"I  can't  see  thee  do  so  my  child— my  dear  child!— Hope  for 
brighter  days,  dear  Fleda." 

"  I  could  bear  it,"  said  Fleda  after  a  little  interval,  "if  it  wasn't 
for  aunt  Lucy  and  Hugh — oh  that  is  the  worst ! — " 

"  What  about  Hugh?  "  said  aunt  Miriam  soothingly. 

"  Oh  he  does  what  he  ought  not  to  do,  aunt  Miriam,  and  there  is 
no  help  for  it, — and  he  did  last  summer— when  we  wanted  men, 
and  in  the  hot  haying-time,  he  used  to  work,  I  know,  beyond  his 
strength, — and  aunt  Lucy  and  I  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  our 
selves  ! — " 

Fleda's  head  which  had  been  raised  sunk  again  and  more  heavily. 

"  Where  was  his  father?"  said  Mrs.  Plumfield. 

"  Oh  he  was  in  the  house — he  didn't  know  it — he  didn't  think 
about  it." 

"  Didn't  think  about  it!  " 

"  No — O  he  didn't  think  Hugh  was  hurting  himself,  but  he  was — 
he  showed  it  for  weeks  afterward. — I  have  said  whari  ought  new 
aow,'  said  Fleda  looking  up  and  seeming  to  check  her  tears  and 
the  spring  of  them  at  once. 

"  So  much  security  any  woman  has  in  a  man  without  religion  !  " 
said  aunt  Miriam,  going  back  to  her  work.  Fleda  would  have  said 
something  if  she  could  ;  she  was  silent ;  she  stood  looking  into  the 
fire  while  the  tears  seemed  to  come  as  it  were  by  stealth  and  ran 
down  her  face  unregarded. 

"  Is  Hugh  not  well  ?" 

"I  don't  know, —  "  said  Fleda  faintly, — "  he  is  not  ill — but  he 
never  was  very  str-mir,  and  he  exposes  himself  now  I  know  in  a  way 
ne  ought  not. — 1  am  sorry  I  have  just  come  and  troubled  you  with 
ail  this  now,  aunt  Miriam,"  she  said  after  a  little  pause, — "  I  shall 
feel  better  by  and  by— I  don't  very  often  get  such  a  fit." 


aoa 

••  My  dear  little  Fleda  !  " — and  there  was  unspeakable  tenderness 
in  the  old  lady's  voice,  as  she  came  up  and  drew  Fleda's  head  again 
to  rest  upon  her  ; — "  \  would  not  let  a  rough  wind  touch  thee  if  I 
had  the  holding  of  it. — But  we  may  be  glad  the  arranging  of  things 
is  not  in  my  hand — I  should  be  a  poor  friend  after  all,  for  I  do 
not  know  what  is  best.  Canst  thou  trust  him  who  does  know,  my 
child?' 

"  I  do,  aunt  Miriam, — O  I  do,"  said  Fleda,  burying  her  face  in 
her  bosom  ; — "  I  don't  often  feel  so  as  I  did  to-day." 

"  There  comes  not  a  cloud  that  its  shadow  is  not  wanted,"  sai4i 
aunt  Miriam.  "  I  cannot  see  why, — but  it  is  that  thou  mayes? 
bloom  Ihe  brighter,  my  dear  one." 

•'  I  know  it, — "  Fleda's  words  were  hardly  audible, — "  I  will 
iry— " 

"  Remember  his  own  message  to  every  one  tinder  a  cloud—-'  cast 
all  thy  care  upon  him,  for  he  careth  for  thee  ; ' — thou  mayest  keep 
none  of  it  ; — and  then  the  peace  that  passeth  understanding  shall 
keep  thee. — '  So  he  giveth  his  beloved  sleep.'  " 

Fleda  wept  for  a  minute  on  the  old  lady's  neck,  and  then  she  looked 
up,  dried  her  tears,  and  sat  down  with  a  face  greatly  quieted  and 
lightened  of  its  burden  ;  while  aunt  Miriam  once  more  went  back 
to  her  work.  The  one  wrought  and  the  other  looked  on  in  silence. 

The  crullers  were  all  done  at  last  ;  the  great  bread-trough  was 
filled  and  set  away  ;  the  remnant  of  the  fat  was  carefully  disposed 
of,  and  aunt  Miriam's  handmaid  was  called  in  to  "take  the  watch." 
She  herself  and  her  visitor  adjourned  to  the  sitting-room. 

"  Well,"  said  Fleda,  in  a  tone  again  steady  and  clear, — "  I  must 
go  home  to  see  about  getting  up  a  dinner.  I  am  the  greatest  hand 
at  making  something  out  of  nothing,  aunt  Miriam,  that  ever  you 
saw.  There  is  nothing  like  practice.  I  only  wish  the  man  uncle 
Orrin  talks  about  would  come  along  once  in  a  while." 

"  Who  was  that  ?  "  said  aunt  Miriam. 

«'/\  man  that  used  to  go  about  from  house  to  house,"  said  Fleda 
laughing,  "  when  the  cottagers  were  making  soup,  with  a  ham-bone 
to  give  it  a  relish,  and  he  used  to  charge  them  so  much  for  a  dip, 
and  so  much  for  a  wallop." 

"  Come,  come,  I  can  do  as  much  for  you  as  that,"  said  aunt 
Miriam,  proceeding  to  her  store-pantry, — "see  here — wouldn't  this 
iae  as  good  as  a  ham -bone  ?  "  said  she,  bringing  out  of  it  a  fat  fowl ; 
«— "  how  would  a  wallop  of  this  do  ?  " 

"Admirably  ! — only — the  ham-bone  used  to  come  out  again,—. 
and  I  am  confident  this  never  would." 

"Well  I  guess  I'll  stand  that,"  said  aunt  Miriam  smiling, — "  you 
wouldn't  mind  carrying  this  under  your  cloak,  would  you  ?  " 

"I  have  no  doubt  I  shall  go  home  lighter  with  it  than  without  it, 
ma'am, — thank  you  dear  aunty  ! — dear  aunt  Miriam  !  " 

There  was  a  change  of  tone,  and  of  eye,  as  Fleda  sealed  eack 
thank  with  a  kiss. 

"  But  how  is  it? — does  all  the  charge  of  the  house  come  upon 
you,  dear?  " 

"  O,  this  kind  of  thing,  because  aunt  Lucy  doesn't  understand  it 
and  can't  get  along  with  it  so  well.  She  likes  better  to  sew,  and  I 
had  quite  a;  lief  do  this. ' ' 


toe  QUEECHT. 

••  And  don't  you  sew  too  ?  " 

«« O — a  little.     She  does  as  much  as  she  can,"  said  Fled  a  gravely, 

"Where  is  your  other  cousin  ?"  said  Mrs.  Plumfield  abruptly. 

"  Marion  ? — she  is  in  England  I  believe  ; — we  don't  hear  from  het 
very  often." 

"  No,  no,  I  mean  the  one  who  is  in  the  army  ?  " 

"  Charlton  ! — O  he  is  just  ordered  off  to  Mexico,"  said  Fleds 
sadly,  "  and  that  is  another  great  trouble  to  aunt  Lucy.  This  mis. 
crable  war! — " 

"  Does  he  never  come  home  ?  " 

"'Only  once  since  we  came  from  Paris — while  we  were  in  N«s$ 
York.  He  has  been  stationed  away  off  at  the  West." 

"  He  has  a  captain's  pay  now,  hasn't  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  he  doesn't  know  at  all  how  things  are  at  home — he 
hasn't  an  idea  of  it, — and  he  will  not  have.  Well  good-bye,  dear 
aunt  Miriam — I  must  run  home  to  take  care  of  my  chicken." 

"  She  ran  away  ;  and  if  her  eyes  many  a  time  on  the  way  down 
the  hill  filled  and  overflowed,  they  were  not  bitter  nor  dark  tears  ; 
they  were  the  gushings  of  high  and  pure  and  generous  affections, 
weeping  for  fulness,  not  for  want. 

That  chicken  was  not  wasted  in  soup  ;  it  was  converted  into  the 
nicest  possible  little  fricassee,  because  the  toast  would  make  so 
much  more  of  it  ;  and  to  Fled  a' s  own  dinner  little  went  beside  the 
toast,  that  a  greater  portion  of  the  rest  might  be  for  her  aunt  and 
Hugh. 

That  same  evening  Seth  Plumfield  came  into  the  kitchen  while 
Fleda  was  there. 

"  Here  is  something  belongs  to  you,  I  believe,"  said  he  with  a 
covert  smile,  bringing  out  from  under  his  cloak  the  mate  to  Fleda's 
fowl  ; — "  mother  said  somethin'  had  run  away  with  t'other  one  and 
she  didn't  know  what  to  do  with  this  one  alone.  Your  uncle  at 
home  ?  " 

The  next  news  that  Fleda  heard  was  that  Seth  had  taken  a  lease 
of  the  saw-mill  for  two  years. 

Mr.  Didenhover  did  not  disappoint  Fleda's  expectations.  Very 
little  could  be  got  from  him  or  the  farm  under  him  beyond  the  im 
mediate  supply  wanted  for  the  use  of  the  family  ;  and  that  in  kind, 
not  in  cash.  Mrs.  Rossitur  was  comforted  by  knowing  that  some 
portion  of  rent  had  also  gone  to  Dr.  Gregory — how  large  or  how 
small  a  portion  she  could  not  find  out.  But  this  left  the  family  in 
increasing  straits,  which  narrowed  and  narrowed  during  the  whole 
first  summer  and  winter  of  Didenhover' s  administration.  Very 
straitened  they  would  have  been  but  for  the  means  of  relief  adopted 
by  the  two  children,  as  they  were  always  called.  Hugh,  as  soon  as 
the  spring  opened,  had  a  quiet  hint,  through  Fleda,  that  if  he  had 
a  mind  to  take  the  working  of 'the  saw-mill  he  might,  for  a  consid 
eration  merely  nominal.  This  offer  was  immediately  and  gratefully 
closed  with  ;  and  Hugh's  earnings  were  thenceforward  very  im 
portant  at  home.  Fleda  had  her  own  ways  and  means.  Mr.  Ros 
situr,  more  low-spirited  and  gloomy  than  ever,  seemed  to  have  no 
heart  to  anything.  He  would  have  worked  perhaps  if  he  could 
have  done  it  alone;  but  to  join  Didenhover  and  his  men,  or  any 
gang  oi  workmen,  was  too  much  for  his  magnanimity.  H* 


qUEECHY.  907 

helped  nobody  but  Fleda.  For  her  he  would  do  anything,  at  any 
time  ;  and  in  the  garden  and  among  her  flowers  in  the  flowery 
courtyard  he  might  often  be  seen  at  work  with  her.  But  nowhere 
else. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Some  bring  a  capon,  some  a  rurall  cake, 

Some  nuts,  some  apples ;  some  that  thinke  they  make 

The  better  cheeses,  bring  'hem ;  or  else  send 

By  their  ripe  daughters,  whom  they  would  commend 

This  way  to  husbands  ;  and  whose  baskets  beare 

An  embleme  of  themselves,  in  plum  or  peare. 

BEN  JONSOM. 

So  the  time  walked  away,  for  this  family  was  not  now  of  those 
*'  whom  time  runneth  withal," — to  the  second  summer  of  Mr.  Did- 
enhover's  term. 

One  morning  Mrs.  Rossitur  was  seated  in  the  breakfast-room  at 
her  usual  employment,  mending  and  patching  ;  no  sinecure  now. 
Fleda  opened  the  kitchen  door  and  came  in  folding  up  a  calico 
apron  she  had  just  taken  off. 

"You  are  tired,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur  sorrowfully; — "you 
look  pale." 

11  Do  I  ?  "—said  Fleda  sitting  down.     "  I  am  a  little  tired !  " 
"  Why  do  you  do  so  ?  " 

"  O  it's  nothing  "  said   Fleda  cheerfully  ; — "  I  haven't  hurt  my 
self.     I  shall  be  rested  again  in  a  few  minutes." 
"  What  have  you  been  doing  ?  " 

"  O  I  tired  myself  a  little  before  breakfast  in  the  garden,  I  sup 
pose.  Aunt  Lucy,  don't  you  think  I  had  almost  a  bushel  of  peas? 
— and  there  was  a  little  over  a  half  bushel  last  time,  so  I  shall  call 
it  a  bushel.  Isn't  that  fine  ?  " 

"  You  didn't  pick  them  all  yourself?  " 

41  Hugh  helped  me  a  little  while  ;  but  he  had  the  horse  to  get 
ready,  and  I  was  out  before  him  this  morning — poor  fellow,  he  was 
tired  from  yesterday,  I  dare  say." 

Mrs.  Rossitur  looked  at  her,  a  look  between  remonstrance  and 
:eproach,  and  cast  her  eyes  down  without  saying  a  word,  swallow-* 
Ing  a  whole  heartful  of  thoughts  and  feelings.  Fleda  stooped  for 
ward  till  her  own  forehead  softly  touched  Mrs,  Rossitur' s,  as  gentle 
a  chiding  of  despondency  as  a  very  sunbeam  could  have  given. 

"Now  aunt  Lucy! — what  do  you  mean  ?  Don't  you  know  it's 
good  for  me? — And  do  you  know,  Mr.  Sweet  will  give  me  four 
shillings  a  bushel  ;  and  aunt  Lucy,  I  sent  three  dozen  heads  of  let 
tuce  this  morning  besides.  Isn't  that  doing  well  ?  and  I  sent  two 
dozen  day  before  yesterday.  It  is  time  they  were  gone  for  they  are 
running  up  to  seed,  this  set ;  I  have  got  another  fine  set  almost 
ready." 

Mrs.  Rossitur  looked  at  her  again,  as  if  she  had  been  a  sort  Of 
terrestrial  angel. 

"  And  how  much  will  you  get  for  them  ?  " 

MI  don't  know  exactly — threepence,   or  sixpence  perhaps* — I 


guess  not'  so  much— they  are  so  easily  raised  ;  though  i  don  t  be* 
lieve  there  are  so  fine  as  mine  to  be  seen  in  this  region. — If  I  only 
had  somebody  to  water  the  strawberries! — we  should  have  a  great 
many.  Aunt  Lucy,  I  am  going  to  send  as  many  as  I  can  without 
robbing  uncle  Rolf — he  sha'n't  miss  them  ;  but  the  rest  of  us  don't 
mind  eating  rather  fewer  than  usual?  I  ,»hall  make  a  good  deal  by 
them.  And  I  think  these  morning  ddes  do  Hugh  good  ;  don't  you 
think  so  ?  " 

"And  what  have  you  been  busy  about  ever  since  breakfast; 
Fleda?" 

"  O — two  or  three  things,"  said  Fleda  Jgbtly. 

"What?1 

•«  I  had  bread  to  make — and  then  I  thought  while  my  hands  were 
in  I  would  make  a  custard  for  uncle  Rolf." 

"  You  needn't  have  done  that,  dear  !  it  was  not  necessary." 

"Yes  it  was,  because  you  know  we  have  only  fried  pork  for  din 
ner  to-day,  and  while  we  have  the  milk  and  eggs  it  doesn't  cost 
much — the  sugar  is  almost  nothing.  He  will  like  it  better,  and  so 
will  Hugh.  As  for  you,"  said  Fleda,  gently  touching  her  forehead 
again,  "  you  know  it  is  of  no  consequence  !  " 

"  I  wish  you  would  think  yourself  of  some  consequence,"  said 
Mrs.  Rossitur. 

"  Don't  I  think  myself  of  consequence  \  '  said  Fleda  affection 
ately.  "I  don't  know  how  you'd  all  get  on  without  me.  What 
do  you  think  I  have  a  mind  to  do  now,  by  way  of  resting  my- 
selt?" 

"  Well?"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur,  thinking  of  something  else. 

"  It  is  the  day  for  making  presents  to -the  minister  you  know." 

•'  The  minister  ?  " — 

"  Yes,  the  new  minister — they  expect  him  to-day  ; — you  have 
neard  of  it  ; — the  things  are  all  to  be  carried  to  his  house  to 
day.  I  have  a  great  notion  to  go  and  see  the  fun — if  I  only  had 
anything  in  the  world  I  could  possibly  take  with  me — " 

"Aren't  you  too  tired,  dear?" 

•  «  No — it  would  rest  me — it  is  early  yet — if  I  only  had  something 
to  take  !—  I  couldn't  go  without  taking  something " 

"A  basket  of  eggs?"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur. 

"  Can't,  aunt  Lucy — I  can't  spare  them;  so  many  of  the  hens 
are  setting  now. — A  basket  of  strawberries! — that's  the  thing! 
I've  got  enough  picked  for  that  and  to-night  too.  That  will 
do!  " 

Fleda' s  preparations  were  soon  made,  and  with  her  basket  on 
(Her  arm  she  was  ready  to  set  forth. 

"  If  pride  had  not  been  a  little  put  down  in  rne,"  she  said  smil- 
ing,  "  I  suppose  I  should  rather  stay  at  home  than  go  with  such  a 
petty  offering.  And  no  doubt  every  one  that  sees  it  or  hears  of  it 
will  lay  it  to  anything  but  the  right  reason.  So  much  the  world 
knows  about  the  people  it  judges ! — It  is  too  bad  to  leave  you  all 
alone,  aunt  Lucy/'  * 

Mrs.  Rossitur  pulled  her  down  for  a  kiss,  a  kiss  in  which  how 
much  was  said  on  both  sides! — and  Fleda  set  forth,  choosing 
BS  she  very  commonly  did  the  old-time  way  through  the  kitchen. 


OUEECHY.  2M 

••Off  again?"  said   Barby  who  was  on  her  knees  scrubbing  tnc 

great  flag-stones  of  the  hearth. 

"  Yes,  I  am  going  up  to  see  the  donation  party/' 

"  Has  the  minister  come  ?  " 

"  No,  but  he  is  coming  to-day,  I  understand." 

41  He  ha' n't  preached  for  'em  yet,  has  he?" 

"  Not  yet  ;  I  suppose  he  will  next  Sunday." 

11  They  are  in  a  mighty  hurry  to  give  him  a  donation  party  !  ** 
said  Barby.  "  I'd  ha'  waited  till  he  was  here  first.  I  don't  believe 
they'd  be  quite  so  spry  with  their  donations  if  they  had  paid  the 
last  man  up  as  they  ought.  I'd  rather  give  a  man  what  belongs  tc 
him,  and  make  him  presents  afterward." 

"Why  so  I  hope  they  will,  Barby,"  said  Fleda  laughing.  Bui 
Barby  said  no  more. 

The  parsonage-house  was  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  a  little  more, 
from  the  saw-mill,  in  a  line  at  right  angles  with  the  main  road. 
Fleda  took  Hugh  from  his  work  to  see  her  safe  there.  The  road 
ran  north,  keeping  near  the  level  of  the  mid-hill  where  it  branched 
off  a  little  below  the  saw-mill  ;  and  as  the  ground  continued  rising 
toward  the  east  and  was  well  clothed  with  woods,  the  way  at  this 
hour  was  still  pleasantly  shady.  To  the  left,  the  same  slope  of 
ground  carried  down  to  the  foot  of  the  hill  gave  them  an  unin 
terrupted  view  over  a  wide  plain  or  bottom,  edged  in  the  distance 
with  a  circle  of  gently  swelling  hills.  Close  against  the  hills,  in 
the  far  corner  of  the  plain,  lay  the  little  village  of  Queechy  Run, 
hid  from  sight  by  a  slight  intervening  rise  of  ground  ;  not  a  chim 
ney  showed  itself  in  the  whole  spread  of  country.  A  sunny  land 
scape  just  now  ;  but  rich  in  picturesque  associations  of  hay-cocks 
and  winrows,  spotting  it  near  and  far ;  and  close  by  below  them 
was  a  field  of  mowers  at  work  ;  they  could  distinctly  hear  the 
measured  rush  of  the  scythes  through  the  grass,  and  then  the  soft 
clink  of  the  rifles  would  seem  to  play  some  old  delicious  tune  of 
childish  days.  Fleda  made  Hugh  stand  still  to  listen.  It  was  a 
warm  day,  but  "  the  sweet  south  that  breathes  upon  a  bank  of 
violets,"  could  hardly  be  more  sweet  than  the  air  which  coming  to 
them  over  the  whole  breadth  of  the  valley  had  been  charged  by 
the  new-made  hay. 

"  How  good  it  is,  Hugh,"  said  Fleda,  "  that  one  can  get  out  of 
doors  and  forget  everything  that  ever  happened  or  ever  will  happen 
Within  four  walls  !  " 

"  Do  you  ?  "  said  Hugh,  rather  soberly. 

-'•  Yes  I  do, — even  in  my  flower-patch,  right  before  the  house- 
door  ;  but  here — "  said  Fleda,  turning  away  and  swinging  her 
basket  of  strawberries  as  she  went,  "I  have  no  idea  I  ever  did 
such  a  thing  as  make  bread ! — and  how  clothes  get  mended  I  do  not 
comprehend  in  the  least !  " 

"  And  have  you  forgotten  the  peas  and  the  asparagus  too  ?  " 
"  I  am   afraid   you  haven't,   dear   Hugh,"   said  Fleda,  linking 
her   arm   within   his.     "  Hugh, — I   must   find  some  way  to  make 
money." 

"  More  money  ?  "  said  Hugh  smiling. 

"Yes — this  garden  business  is  all  very  well,  but  it  doesn't  come 
lo  any    very   great  things  after   all,  if  you   are  aware  of  it ;  and 
14 


210  QUEECHY. 

itlugh.  I  want  to  get  aunt  Lucy  a  new  dress.  I  can't  bear  to  sec 
her  in  that  old  merino  and  it  isn't  good  for  her.  Why  Hugh  she 
couldn't  possibly  see  anybody,  if  anybody  should  come  to  the 
house." 

"  Who  is  there  to  come'?  "    said  Hugh. 

"Why  nobody  ;  but  still,  she  ought  not  to  be  so." 

"  What  more  can  you  do,  dear  Fleda  ?  You  work  a  great  deal 
too  hard  already,"  said  Hugh  sighing.  "You  should  have  seen 
the  way  father  and  mother  looked  at  you  last  night  when  you  were 
asleep  on  the  sofa." 

Fleda  stifled  her  sigh,  and  went  on. 

"  I  am  sure  there  are  things  that  might  be  done — things  for  the 
booksellers — translating,  or  copying,  or  something, — I  don't  know 
exactly — I  have  heard  of  people's  doing  such  things.  I  mean  to. 
write  to  uncle  Orrin  and  ask  him.  I  am  sure  he  can  manage  it  for 
me." 

"What  were  you  writing  the  other  night?"  said  Hugh  sud 
denly. 

"When?" 

"  The  other  night — when  you  were  writing  by  the  fire-light?  I 
saw  your  pencil  scribbling  away  at  a  furious  rate  over  the  paper, 
and  you  kept  your  hand  up  carefully  between  me  and  your  face, 
but  I  could  see  it  was  something  very  interesting.  Ha? — "said 
Hugh,  laughingly  trying  to  get  another  view  of  Fleda's  face  which 
was  again  kept  from  him.  "  Send  that  to  uncle  Orrin,  Fleda  ; — or 
show  it  to  me  first  and  then  I  will  tell  you." 

Fleda  made  no  answer  ;  and  at  the  parsonage  door  Hugh  left 
her. 

Two  or  three  wagons  were  standing  there  but  nobody  to  be  seen. 
Fleda  went  up  the  steps  and  crossed  the  broad  piazza,  brown  and 
unpainted,  but  picturesque  still,  and  guided  by  the  sound  of  tongues 
turned  to  the  right  where  she  found  a  large  low  room,  the  very 
centre  of  the  stir.  But  the  stir  had  not  by  any  means  reached  the 
height  yet.  Not  more  than  a  dozen  people  were  gathered.  Here 
were  aunt  Syra  and  Mrs.  Douglass,  appointed  a  committee  to  re 
ceive  and  dispose  the  offerings  as  they  were  brought  in. 

"Why  there  is  not  much  to  be  seen  yet,"  said  Fleda.  "  I  did 
not  know  I  was  so  early." 

"Time  enough,"  said  Mrs.  Douglass.  "They'll  come  the 
ihicker  when  they  do  come.  Good  morning.  Dr.  Quackenboss  ! — 
1  hope  you're  a  going  to  give  us  something  else  besides  a  bow? 
and  I  won't  take  none  of  your  physic  neither." 

"  I  humbly  submit,"  said  the  doctor  graciously,  "  that  nothing 
ought  to  be  expected  of  gentlemen  that — a — are  so  unhappy  as  to 
be  alone  ;  for  they  really — a — have  nothing  to  give. — but  them 
selves." 

There  was  a  shout  of  merriment. 

"And  suppos'n  that's  a  gift  that  nobody  wants?"  said  Mrs. 
Douglass's  sharp  eye  and  voice  at  once. 

"  In  that  case,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  really — Miss  Ringgan,  may 
I — a — may  I  relieve  your  hand  of  this  fair  burden?" 

"  It  is  not  a  very  fair  burden,  sir,"  said  Fleda,  laughing  and  I* 
tinquishing  her  strawberries. 


qUEECHY.  2J1 

"Ah  but,  fair,  you  know,  I  mean, — we  speak — in  that  sense 

Mrs.  Douglass,  here  is  by  far  the  most  elegant  offering  that  your 
hands  will  have  the  honor  of  receiving  this  day." 

"I  hope  so."  said  Mrs.  Douglass,  "or  there  won't  be  much  to 
eat  for  the  minister.  Did  you  never  take  notice  how  elegant  things 
somehow  make  folks  grow  poor?" 

"I  guess  he'd  as  leave  see  something  a  little  substantial,"  said 
aunt  Syra. 

"Well  now,"  said  the  doctor,  "here  is  Miss  Ringgan,  who  is 
•nquestionably — a — elegant ! — and  I  am  sure  nobody  will  say  that 
she — looks  poor  !  " 

In  one  sense,  surely  not  !  There  could  not  be  two  opinions.  But 
with  all  the  fairness  of  health,  and  the  flush  which  two  or  three  feel 
ings  had  brought  to  her  cheeks,  there  was  a  look  as  if  the  workings 
of  the  mind  had  refined  away  a  little  of  the  strength  of  the  physical 
frame,  and  as  if  growing  poor  in  Mrs.  Douglass's  sense,  that  is, 
thin,  might  easily  be  the  next  step. 

"What's  your  uncle  going  to  give  us,  Fleda?"  said  aunt  Syra. 

But  Fleda  was  saved  replying  ;  for  Mrs.  Douglass,  who  if  she 
was  sharp  could  be  good-natured  too,  and  had  watched  to  see  how 
Fleda  took  the  double  fire  upon  elegance  and  poverty,  could  bear 
no  more  trial  of  that  sweet  gentle  face.  Without  giving  her  time 
to  answer  she  carried  her  off  to  see  the  things  already  stored  in  the 
closet,  bidding  the  doctor  over  her  shoulder  "  be  off  after  his 
goods,  whether  he  had  got  'e'm  or  no." 

There  was  certainly  a  promising  beginning  made  for  the  future 
minister's  comfort.  One  shelf  was  already  completely  stocked 
with  pies,  and  another  showed  a  quantity  of  cake,  and  biscuits 
enough  to  last  a  good-sized  family  for  several  meals. 

"That  is  always  the  way,"  said  Mrs.  Douglass; — "it's  the 
strangest  thing  that  folks  has  no  sense  !  Now  one  half  o'  them 
pies  '11  be  dried  up  afore  they  can  eat  the  rest  ; — 'tain't  much  loss, 
for  Mis'  Prin  sent  'em  down,  and  if  they  are  worth  anything  it's 
the  first  time  anything  ever  come  out  of  her  house  that  was.  Now 
look  at  them  biscuit !  "  — 

"  How  many  are  coming  to  eat  them?  "  said  Fleda. 

"How?" 

*•  How  large  a  family  has  the  minister?  " 

"  He  ha'n't  a  bit  of  a  family  !     He  ain't  married." 

"Not!  " 

At  the  grave  way  in  which  Mrs.  Douglass  faced  round  upon  her 
and  answered,  and  at  the  idea  of  a  single  mouth  devoted  to  all 
that  closetful,  Fleda's  gravity  gave  place  to  most  uncontrollable 
merriment. 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Douglass,  with  a  curious  twist  of  her  mouth 
but  commanding  herself, — "he  ain't  to  be  sure — not  yet.  He 
ha'n't  any  family  but  himself  and  some  sort  of  a  housekeeper,  I 
suppose,  they'll  divide  the  house  between  *em." 

"  And  the  biscuits,  I  hope,"  said  Fleda.  "  But  what  will  he  do 
with  all  the  other  things,  Mrs.  Douglass?" 

"  Sell  'em  if  he  don't  want  "em,"  said  Mrs.  Douglass  quizzically. 
"  Shut  up,  Fleda,  I  forget  who  sent  them  biscuit — somebody  that 
calculated  to  make  a  show  for  a  little.  I  reckon. — My  sakes !  I  be- 


R12  QUEECUT. 

ueve  it  was  Mis'  Springer  herself! — she  didnt  hear  me  though/* 
said  Mrs.  Douglass  peeping  out  of  the  half  open  door.  "  It's  a 
good  thing  the  world  ain't  all  alike  ;— there's  Mis'  Plumfield — stop 
now,  and  I'll  tell  you  all  she  sent  ; — that  big  jar  of  lard,  there's  as 
good  as  eighteen  or  twenty  pound, — and  that  basket  of  eggs,  i 
don't  know  how  many  there  is, — and  that  cheese,  a  real  fine  one 
I'll  be  bound,  she  wouldn't  pick  out  the  worst  in  her  dairy, — and 
Seth  fetched  down  a  hundred  weight  of  corn  meal  and  another  of 
ye  flour  ;  now  that's  what  I  call  doing  things  something  like  ;  if 
everybody  else  would  keep  up  their  end  as  well  as  they  keep  up 
heir'n  the  world  wouldn't  be  quite  so  one-sided  as  it  is.  I  never 
iee  the  time  yet  when  1  couldn't  tell  where  to  find  Mis'  Plum- 
Seld." 

"  No,  nor  anybody  else,"  said  Fleda  looking  happy. 

"There's  Mis'  Silbert  couldn't  find  nothing  better  to  send  than  a 
kag  of  soap,"  Mrs.  Douglass  went  on,  seeming  very  much  amused; 
— "  I  was  beat  when  I  saw  that  walk  in  !  I  should  think  she'd  feel 
streaked  to  come  here  by  and  by  and  see  it  a  standing  between 
Mis'  Plumfield's  lard  and  Mis'  Clavering's  pork — that's  a  hand 
some  kag  of  pork,  ain't  it  ?  What's  that  man  done  with  your 
strawberries?— I'll  put  'em  up  here  afore  somebody  takes  a  notion 
to  'em. — I'll  let  the  minister  know  who  he's  got  to  thank  for  'em," 
said  she,  winking  at  Fleda.  "  Where's  Dr.  Quackenboss?  " 

"  Coming,  ma'am  !  "  sounded  from  the  hall,  and  forthwith  at  the 
open  door  entered  the  doctor's  head,  simultaneously  with  a  large 
cheese  which  he  was  rolling  before  him,  the  rest  of  the  doctor's 
person  being  thrown  into  the  background  in  consequence.  A  curi 
ous  natural  representation  of  a  wheelbarrow,  the  wheel  being  the 
only  artificial  part. 

"  Oh  ! — that's  you,  doctor,  is  it?  "  said  Mrs.  Douglass. 

"This  is  me,  ma'am,"  said  the  doctor,  rolling  up  to  the  closet 
door, — "this  has  the  honor  to  be — a — myself, — bringing  my  service 
to  the  feet  of  Miss  Ringgan." 

"  '  Eain't  very  elegant,"  said  the  sharp  lady. 

Fleda  thought  if  his  service  was  at  her  feet,  her  feet  should  be 
somewhere  else,  and  accordingly  stepped  quietly  out  of  the  way 
and  went  to  one  of  the  windows,  from  whe/ice  she  could  have  a 
view  both  of  the  comers  and  the  come  ;  and  by  this  time  thoroughly 
in  the  spirit  of  the  thing  she  used  her  eyes  upon  both  with  great 
imusement.  People  were  constantly  arriving  now,  in  wagons  and 
on  foot  ;  and  stores  of  all  kinds  were  most  literally  pouring  in. 
Bags  and  even  barrels  of  meal,  flour,  pork,  and  potatoes  ;  strings 
of  dried  apples,  salt,  hams  and  beef;  hops,  pickles,  vinegar,  maple 
sugar  and  molasses  ;  rolls  of  fresh  butter,  cheese,  and  eggs  ;  cake, 
bread,  and  pies,  without  end.  Mr.  Penny,  the  storekeeper,  sent  a 
box  of  tea.  Mr.  Winegar,  the  carpenter,  a  new  ox-sled.  Earl 
Douglass  brought  a  handsome  axe-helve  of  Ins  own  fashioning  ; 
his  wife  a  quantity  of  rolls  of  wool.  Zan  Finn  carted  a  load  of 
wood  into  the  wood-shed,  and  Squire  Thornton  another.  Home 
made  candles,  custards,  preserves,  and  smoked  liver,  came  in  a 
batch  from  two  or  three  miles  off  up  on  the  mountain.  Half  a 
dozen  chairs  from  the  factory  man.  Half  a  dozen  brooms  from  the 
other  storekeeper  at  the  Deepwater  settlement.  A  ca*-^ef  for  lh« 


QUEECHY.  213 

fcest  room  from  the  ladies  of  the  township,  who  had  clubbed  forces 
to  furnish  it  ;  and  a  home-made  concern  it  was,  from  the  shears  to 
the  loom. 

The  room  was  full  now,  for  every  one  after  depositing  his  gift 
turned  aside  to  see  what  others  had  brought  and  were  bringing  ; 
and  men  and  women,  the  young  and  old,  had  their  several  circles 
3f  gossip  in  various  parts  of  the  crowd.  Apart  from  them  all 
Fleda  sat  in  her  window,  probably  voted  "elegant"  by  others 
:han  the  doctor,  for  they  vouchsafed  her  no  more  than  a  transitory 
attention  and  sheered  off  to  find  something  more  congenial.  She 
sat  watching  the  people  ;  smiling  very  often  as  some  odd  figure,  or 
took,  or  some  peculiar  turn  of  expression  or  tone  of  voice,  caught 
her  ear  or  her  eye. 

Both  ear  and  eye  were  fastened  by  a  young  countryman  with  a 
particularly  fresh  face  whom  she  saw  approaching  the  house.  He 
came  up  on  foot,  carrying  a  single  fowl  slung  at  his  back  by  a  stick 
thrown  across  his  shoulder  ;  and  without  stirring  hat  or  stick  he 
came  into  the  room  and  made  his  way  through  the  crowd  of  people, 
looking  to  the  one  hand  and  the  other  evidently  in  a  maze  of  doubt 
to  whom  he  should  deliver  himself  and  his  chicken,  till  brought  up 
by  Mrs.  Douglass's  sharp  voice. 

"  Well  Philetus!   what  are  you  looking  for?" 
"  Do,  Mis'   Douglass  !  " — it  is  impossible  to  express  the  abortive 
attempt  at  a  bow  which  accompanied  this  salutation, — "I  want  to 
know  if  the  minister  '11  be  in  town  to-day?" 
"  What  do  you  want  of  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  nothin'  of  him.  I  want  to  know  if  he'll  be  in 
town  to-day  ?  " 

"Yes — I  expect  he'll  be  along  directly — why,  what  then?" 
"  Cause  I've  got  teu  chickens  for  him  here,  and  mother  said  they 
hadn't  ought  to  be  kept  no  longer,  and  if  he  wa'n't  to  hum  I  were 
to  fetch  'em  back,  straight." 

"  Well  he'll  be  here,  so  let's  have  'em,"  said  Mrs.  Douglass  bit 
ing  her  lips. 

"  What's  become  o*  t'other  one?"  said  Earl,  as  the  young  man's 
stick  was  brought  round  to  the  table; — "I  guess  you've  lost  it, 
Wa'n't  you  ?  " 

"  My  gracious!  "  was  all  Philetus's  powers  were  equal  to.     Mrs, 
Douglass  went  off  into  fits  which  rendered  her  incapable  of  speak 
ng  and  left  the   unlucky   chicken-bearer  to  tell  his  story  his  own 
way,  but  all  he  brought  forth  was  "  Du  tell ! — I  am  beat! — " 
"  Where's  t'other  one?"  said  Mrs.  Douglass  between  paroxysms, 
"Why   I   ha'n't   done  nothin'  to  it,"  said  Philetus  dismally,—- 
"there  was  teu  on  'em  afore   I  started,  and  I  took  and  tied  'em 
together  and  hitched  'em  onto  the  stick,  and  that  one  must  ha' 
loosened  itself  off  some  way — I  believe  the  darned  thing  did  it  o' 
purpose." 

"  I  guess  your  mother  knowed  that  one  wouldn't  keep  till  it  got 
here,"  said  Mrs.  Douglass. 

The  room  was  now  all  one  shout,  in  the  midst  of  which  poor 
Philetus  took  himself  off  as  speedily  as  possible.  Before  FJeca 
had  dried  her  eyes  her  attention  was  taken  by  a  lady  and  gentle 
man  who  had  just  got  out  of  a  vehicle  of  more  than  the  ordinary 


914  QUL'ECHY. 

pretension  and  were  coming  up  to  the  door.  The  gentleman  was 
young,  the  lady  was  not,  both  had  a  particularly  amiable  and 
pleasant  appearance  ;  but  about  the  lady  there  was  something  that 
moved  Fledr  singularly  and  somehow  touched  the  spring  of  old 
memories,  which  she  felt  stirring  at  the  sight  of  her.  As  they 
neared  the  house  she  lost  them — then  they  entered  the  room  and 
came  through  it  slowly,  looking  about  them  with  an  air  of  good- 
humored  amusement.  Fleda's  eye  was  fixed,  but  her  mind  puz 
zled  itself  in  vain  to  recover  what  in  her  experience  had  been  con* 
nected  with  that  fair  and  lady-like  physiognomy  and  the  bland 
smile  that  was  overlooked  by  those  acute  eyes.  The  eyes  met 
hers,  and  then  seemed  to  reflect  her  doubt,  for  they  remained  as 
fixed  as  her  own  while  the  lady  quickening  her  steps  came  up  to 
her. 

"  I  am  sure,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand,  and  with  a  gentle 
graciousness  that  was  very  agreeable, — "  I  am  sure  you  are  some 
body  I  know.  What  is  your  name?  " 

"  Fleda  Ringgan." 

"  I  thought  so  !  "  said  the  lady,  now  shaking  her  hand  warmly 
and  kissing  her, — "  I  knew  nobody  could  have  been  your  mother 
but  Amy  Charlton !  How  like  her  you  look  ! — Don't  you  know 
me?  don't  you  remember  Mrs.  Evelyn  ?  " 

"Mrs.  Evelyn!"  said  Fleda,  the  whole  coming  back  to  her  at 
once. 

"You  remember  me  now? — How  well  I  recollect  you !  and  all 
that  old  time  at  Montepoole.  Poor  little  creature  that  you  were  ! 
and  dear  little  creature,  as  I  am  sure  you  have  been  ever  since. 
And  how  is  your  dear  aunt  Lucy  ?  " 

Fleda  answered  that  she  was  well. 

"  I  used  to  love  her  very  much — that  was  before  I  knew  you — 
before  she  went  abroad.  We  have  just  got  home — this  spring  ;  and 
now  we  are  staying  at  Montepoole  for  a  few  days.  I  shall  come 
and  see  her  to-morrow — I  knew  you  were  somewhere  in  this  re 
gion,  but  I  did  not  know  exactly  where  to  find  you  ;  that  was  one 
reason  why  I  came  here  to-day — I  thought  I  might  hear  something 
of  you.  And  where  are  your  aunt  Lucy's  children  ?  and  how  are 
they  ? ' ' 

"  Hugh  is  at  home,"  said  Fleda,  "  and  rather  delicate — Charlton 
is  in  the  army." 

"In  the  army.     In  Mexico!" — 

"  In  Mexico  he  has  been  " — 

"  Your  poor  aunt  Lucy  !  " 

— "  In  Mexico  he  has  been,  but  he  is  just  coming  home  now — he 
has  been  wounded,  and  he  is  coming  home  to  spend  a  long  fur 
lough." 

"  Coming  home.  That  will  make  you  all  very  happy.  And 
Hugh  is  delicate — and  how  are  you,  love?  you  hardly  look  like  a 
country-girl.  Mr.  Olmney! — "  said  Mrs.  Evely n  looking  round  for 
her  companion,  who  was  standing  quietly  a  few  steps  off  surveying 
the  scene, — "  Mr.  Olmney  ! — I  am  going  to  do  you  a  favor,  sir,  in 
introducing  you  to  Miss  Ringgan — a  very  old  friend  of  mine.  Mr. 
Olmney, — these  are  not  exactly  the  apple-cheeks  and  robvstiffus 
demonstrations  we  are  taught  to  look  for  in  country -land  ?  " 


QUEECHr.  215 

This  was  said  with  a  kind  of  sly  funny  enjoyment  which  took 
away  everything  disagreeable  from  the  appeal ;  but  Fleda  conceived 
a  favorable  opinion  of  the  person  to  whom  it  was  made  from  the 
fact  that  he  paid  her  no  compliment  and  made  no  answer  beyond 
a  very  pleasant  smile. 

"What  is  Mrs.  Evelyn's  definition  of  a  very  old  friend?"  said 
he  with  another  smile,  as  that  lady  moved  off  to  take  a  more 
particular  view  of  what  she  had  come  to  see.  "To  judge  by  the 
specimen  before  me  I  should  consider  it  very  equivocal." 

"Perhaps  Mrs.  Evelyn  counts  friendships  by  inheritance,"  said 
Fleda.  "  I  think  they  ought  to  be  counted  so." 

"  '  Thine  own  friend  and  thy  father's  friend  forsake  not '  ?  "  said 
the  young  man. 

Fleda  looked  looked  up  and  smiled  a  pleased  answer. 

"There  is  something  very  lovely  in  the  faithfulness  of  tried 
friendship — and  very  uncommon." 

"  I  know  that  it  is  uncommon  only  by  hearsay,"  said  Fleda.  "  I 
have  so  many  good  friends." 

He  was  silent  for  an  instant,  possibly 'thinking  there  might  be  a 
reason  for  that  unknown  only  to  Fleda  herself. 

"  Perhaps  one  must  be  in  peculiar  circumstances  to  realize  it,"  he 
said  sighing  ; — "circumstances  that  leave  one  of  no  importance  to 
any  one  in  the  world. — But  it  is  a  kind  lesson  ! — one  learns  to  de 
pend  more  on  the  one  friendship  that  can  never  disappoint." 

Fleda' s  eyes  again  gave  an  answer  of  sympathy,  for  she  thought 
from  the  shade  that  had  come  upon  his  face  that  these  circum 
stances  had  probably  been  known  to  himself. 

"  This  is  rather  an  amusing  scene,"  he  remarked  presently  in  a 
low  tone. 

"  Very,"  said  Fleda.     "  I  have  never  seen  such  a  one  before." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  he.  "  It  is  a  pleasant  scene  too  ;  it  is  pleasant  to 
see  so  many  evidences  of  kindness  and  good  feeling  on  the  part  of 
all  these  people." 

"There  is  all  the  more  show  of  it,  I  suppose,  to-day,"  said 
Fleda,  "  because  we  have  a  new  minister  coming  ; — they  want  to 
make  a  favorable  impression." 

"  Does  the  old  proverb  of  the  'new  broom*  hold  good  here 
too?"  said  he  smiling.  "What's  the  name  of  your  new  minis* 
*r?" 

"I  am  not  certain,"  said  Fleda, — "  there  were  two  talked  of— 
Ac  last  I  heard  was  that  it  was  an  old  Mr.  Carey  ;  but  from  what  I 
hear  this  morning  I  suppose  it  must  be  the  other — a  Mr.  Ollum,  or 
some  such  queer  name,  I  believe." 

Fleda  thought  her  hearer  looked  very  much  amused,  and  fol* 
lowed  his  eye  into  the  room,  where  Mrs.  Evelyn  was  going  about 
in  all  quarters  looking  at  everything,  and  finding  occasion  to  en 
ter  into  conversation  with  at  least  a  quarter  of  the  people  who 
were  present.  Whatever  she  was  saying  it  seemed  at  that  moment 
to  have  something  to  do  with  them,  for  sundry  eyes  turned  in  their 
direction  ;  and  presently  Dr.  Quackenboss  came  up,  with  even 
more  than  common  suavity  of  manner. 

"  I  trust  Miss  Ringgan  will  do  me  the  favor  of  making  me  ac 
quainted  with— a— with  our  future  pastor!  "  said  the  doctor,  look- 


216  QUEECHY. 

ing  however  not  at  all  at  Miss  Ringgan  but  straight  at  the  pastor 
in  question.  "I  have  great  pleasure  in  giving  you  the  first  wel 
come,  sir, — or,  I  should  say,  rather  the  second  ;  since  no  doubt  Miss 
Ringgan  has  been  in  advance  of  me.  It  is  not  un — a — appropri 
ate,  sir.  for  I  may  say  we — a — divide  the  town  between  us.  You 
are,  I  am  sure,  a  worthy  representative  of  Peter  and  Paul;  and  I 
am — a — a  pupil  of  Esculapus,  sir?  You  are  the  intellectual  »  hys^ 
cian,  and  I  am  the  external." 

"  I  hope  we  shall  both  prove  ourselves  good  workmen,  sir,"  sai«' 
the  young  minister,  shaking  the  doctor's  hand  heartily. 

•"This  is  Dr.  Quackenboss,  Mr.  Olmney,"  said  Fleda,  >  <_ 

tremendous  effort.  But  though  she  could  see  corresponding  ^.ica 
tions  about  her  companion's  eyes  and  mouth,  she  admired  the  kind 
ness  and  self-command  with  which  he  listened  to  the  doctor's  civili 
ties  and  answered  them  ;  expressing  his  grateful  sense  of  the  favors 
received  not  only  from  him  but  from  others. 

"  O — a  little  to  begin  with,"  said  the  doctor,  looking  round  upon 
the  room,  which  would  certainly  have  furnished  that  for  fifty  peo 
ple  ; — "  I  hope  we  ain't  done  yet  by  considerable — But  here  is  Miss 
Ringgan,  Mr. — a — Ummin,  that  has  brought  you  some  of  the  fruits 
of  her  own  garden,  with  her  own  fair  hands — a  basket  of  fine  straw 
berries — which  I  am  sure — a — will  make  you  forget  everything 
else  !  " 

Mr.  Olmney  had  the  good-breeding  not  to  look  at  Fleda,  as  he 
answered,  "  I  am  sure  the  spirit  of  kindness  was  the  same  in  all, 
Dr.  Quackenboss,  and  I  trust  not  to  forget  that  readily." 

Others  'now  came  up  ;  and  Mr.  Olmney  was  walked  off  to  be 
"  made  acquainted  "  with  all  or  with  all  the  chief  of  his  parishion 
ers  then  and  there  assembled.  Fleda  watched  him  going  about, 
shaking  hands,  talking  and  smiling,  in  all  directions,  with  about 
as  much  freedom  of  locomotion  as  a  fly  in  a  spider's  web  ;  till  at 
Mrs.  Evelyn's  approach  the  others  fell  off  a  little,  and  taking  him 
by  the  arm  she  rescued  him. 

"My  dear  Mr.  Olmney!"  she  whispered,  with  an  intensely 
amused  face, — "I  shall  have  a  vision  of  you  every  day  for  a 
month  to  come,  sitting  down  to  dinner  with  a  rueful  face  to  a 
whortleberry  pie  ;  for  there  are  so  many  of  them  your  conscience 
will  not  let  you  have  anything  else  cooked — you  cannot  manage 
more  than  one  a  day." 

"Pies  !  "  said  the  young  gentleman,  as  Mrs.  Evelyn  left  talking 
to  indulge  her  feelings  in  ecstatic  quiet  laughing, — "  I  have  a  hor 
ror  of  pies!  " 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  nodding  her  head  delightedly  as 
she  drew  him  toward  the  pantry, — "  I  know  ! — Come  and  see  what 
is  in'  store  for  you.  You  are  to  do  penance  for  a  month  to  come 
with  tin  pans  of  blackberry  jam  fringed  with  pie-crust — no,  they 
can't  be  blackberries,  they  must  be  raspberries — the  blackberries 
are  not  ripe  yet.  And  you  may  sup  upon  cake  and  custards — un 
less  you  give  the  custards  for  the  little  pig  out  there — he  will  want 
something." 

"  A  pig ! — "  said  Mr.  Olmney  in  a  maze  ;  Mrs.  Evelyn  again  giv 
ing  out  in  distress  "  A  pig  ?  "  said  Mr.  Olmney. 


QVEECHY.  9tt 

««  Yes— a  pig — a  very  little  one,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  convulsively. 
"I  am  sure  he  is  hungry  now  ! — ' 

They  had  reached  the  pantry,  and  Mr.  Olmney'sface  was  all  that 
was  wanting  to  Mrs.  Evelyn's  delight.  How  she  smothered  it,  so 
that  it  should  go  no  further  than  to  distress  his  self-command,  is  a 
mystery  known  only  to  the  initiated.  Mrs.  Douglass  was  forthwith 
called  into  council. 

"  Mrs.  Douglass,"  said  Mr.  Olmney,  "  I  feel  very  much  inclined 
play  the  host,  and  beg  my  friends  to  share  with  me  some  of  these 
•  >d  things  they  have  been  so  bountifully  providing." 

I  He   would   enjoy   them  much  more  than  he  would  alone,  Mrs. 
Jouglass,"  said   iMrs.   Evelyn,  who  still  had  hold  of  Mr.  Olmney's 

arm,  looking  round  to  the  lady  with  a  most  benign  face. 

"  I  reckon  some  of  'em  would  be  past  enjoying  by  the  time  he  got 
to  'em  wouldn't  they  ?  "  said  the  lady.  "  Well,  they'll  have  to  take 
'em  in  their  fingers,  for  our  crockery  ha'n't  come  yet— I  shall  have 
to  jog  Mr.  Flatt's  elbow — but  hungry  folks  ain't  curious." 

"  in  their  fingers,  or  any  way,  provided  you  have  only  a  knife  to 
cut  them  with,"  said  Mr.  Olmney,  while  Mrs.  Evelyn  squeezed  his 
arm  in  secret  mischief  ; — "  and  pray  if  we  can  muster  two  knives 
let  us  cut  one  of  these  cheeses,  Mrs.  Douglass." 

And  presently  Fleda  saw  pieces  of  pie  walking  about  in  all  direc 
tions  supported  by  pieces  of  cheese.  And  then  Mrs.  Evelyn  and 
Mr.  Olmney  came  out  from  the  pantry  and  came  toward  her,  the 
latter  bringing  her  with  his  own  hands  a  portion  in  a  tin  pan.  The 
two  ladies  sat  down  in  the  window  together  to  eat  and  be  amused. 

"My  dear  Fleda,  I  hope  you  are  hungry !  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn, 
biting  her  pie  Fleda  could  not  help  thinking  with  an  air  of  good- 
humored  condescension. 

"  I  am,  ma'am,"  she  said  laughing. 

"You  look  just  as  you  used  to  do,"  Mrs.  Evelyn  went  on  earn 
estly. 

II  Do  I  ?  "  said  Fleda,  privately  thinking  that  the  lady  must  have 
good  eyes  for  features  of  resemblance. 

"  Except  that  you  have  more  color  in  your  cheeks  and  more 
sparkles  in  your  eyes.  Dear  little  creature  that  you  were  !  I  want 
to  make  you  know  my  children.  Do  you  remember  that  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Carleton  that  took  such  care  of  you  at  Montepoole  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  do  ! — very  well." 

"We  saw  them  last  winter — we  were  down  at  their  country* 
place  in shire.  They  have  a  magnificent  place  there — every 
thing  you  can  think  of  to  make  life  pleasant.  We  spent  a  week 
with  them.  My  dear  Fleda  ! — I  wish  I  could  show  you  that  place  ! 
you  never  saw  anything  like  it." 

Fleda  eat  her  pie. 

"  We  have  nothing  like  it  in  this  country — of  course — cannot 
have.  One  of  those  superb  English  country-seats  is  beyond  even 
the  imagination  of  an  American." 

"  Nature  has  been  as  kind  to  us,  hasn't  she  ?''  said  Fleda. 

"  O  yes,  but  such  fortunes  you  know.  Mr.  Olmney,  what  do  you 
think  of  those  overgrown  fortunes?  I  was  speaking  to  Miss  Ring- 
£an  just  now  of  a  gentleman  who  has  forty  thousand  pounds  a  year 
income — sterling,  sir  ; — forty  thousand  pounds  a  year  sterling.  Some* 


218  QCEECH*. 

body  says,  you  know,  that  '  he  who  has  more  than  enough  is  a  thurf 
of  the  rights  of  his  brother,' — what  do  you  think?  " 

But  Mr.  Olmney's  attention  was  at  the  moment  forcibly  called  off 
by  the  "  income  "  of  a  parishioner. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Fleda,  "  his  thievish  character  must  depend 
entirely  on  the  use  he  makes  of  what  he  has." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  shaking  her  head. — "  I  think 
the  possession  of  great  wealth  is  very  hardening*" 

"  To  a  fine  nature  ?  "  said  Fleda. ' 

Mrs.  Evelyn  shook  her  head  again,  but,  did  not  seem  to  think  it 
worth  while  to  reply  ;  and  Fleda  was  trying  to  question  in  her  OWR 
mind  whether  wealth  or  poverty  might  be  the  most  hardening  in  its 
effects  ;  when  Mr.  Olmney  having  succeeded  in  getting  free  again 
Came  and  took  his  station  beside  them  ;  and  they  had  a  partic 
ularly  pleasant  talk,  which  Fleda  who  had  seen  nobody  in  a  great 
while  enjoyed  very  much.  They  had  several  such  talks  in  the  course 
of  the  day  ;  for  though  the  distractions  caused  by  Mr.  Olmney's 
other  friends  were  many  and  engrossing,  he  generally  contrived  in 
time  to  find  his  way  back  to  their  window.  Meanwhile  Mrs.  Evelyn 
had  a  great  deal  to  say  to  Fleda  and  to  hear  from  her  ;  and  left  her 
at  last  under  an  engagement  to  spend  the  next  day  at  the  Pool. 

Upon  Mr.  Olmney's  departure  with  Mrs.  Evelyn  the  attraction 
which  had  held  the  company  together  was  broken,  and  they  scat 
tered  fast.  Fleda  presently  finding  herself  in  the  minority  was  glad 
to  set  out  with  Miss  Anastasia  Finn  and  her  sister  Lucy,  who  would 
leave  her  but  very  little  from  her  own  door.  But  she  had  more 
company  than  she  bargained  for.  Dr.  Quackenboss  was  pleased 
to  attach  himself  to  their  party,  though  his  own  shortest  road  cer 
tainly  lay  in  another  direction  ;  and  Fleda  wondered  what  he  had 
done  with  his  wagon,  which  beyond  a  question  must  have  brought 
the  cheese  in  the  morning.  She  edged  herself  out  of  the  conserva 
tion  as  much  as  possible,  and  hoped  it  would  prove  so  agreeable 
that  he  would  not  think  of  attending  her  home.  In  vain.  When 
they  made  a  stand  at  the  cross  roads  the  doctor  stood  on  her  side. 

"  I  hope  now  you've  made  a  commencement,  you  will  come  to 
see  us  again,  Fleda,"  said  Miss  Lucy. 

"  What's  the  use  of  asking  ?  "  said  her  sister  abruptly.  •«  If  she 
has  a  mind  to  she  will,  and  if  she  ha' n't  I  am  sure  we  don't  waat 
her." 

They  turned  off. 
Those  are  excellent  people,"  said  the  doctor  when  they  weir* 


feeyond  hearing  ; — "  really  respectable  ! 

"  Ar«»  th<»vr  ?        csairl    Flprla 


Are  they  ?      said  Fleda. 

"  But  your  goodness  does  not  look,  I  am  sure,  to  find — a — Par. 
isian  graces,  in  so  remote  a  circle  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not !  "  said  Fleda. 

"We  have  had  a  genial  day  !"  said  the  doctor,  quitting  the 
Finns. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Fleda,  permitting  a  little  of  her  inward 
merriment  to  work  off, — "  I  think  it  has  been  rather  too  hot." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  doctor,  "the  sun  has  been  ardent ;  but  I  referred 
rather  to  the— a—to  the  warming  of  affections,  and  the  pleasant  t*< 


QUEECHY.  219 

Change  of  intercourse  on  all  sides  which  has  taken  place.  How  do 
you  like  our — a — the  stranger  ?  " 

"Who,  sir?" 

,"  The  new-comer, — this  young  Mr.  Ummin  ?  " 

Fleda  answered,  but  she  hardly  knew  what,  for  she  was  musing 
whether  the  doctor  would  go  away  or  corne  in.  They  reached  the 
door,  and  Fleda  invited  him,  with  terrible  effort  after  her  voice  ; 
the  doctor  having  just  blandly  offered  an  opinion  upon  the  decided 
polish  of  Mr.  Olmney's  manners! 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Labor  is  light,  xvhere  love  (quoth  I)  doth  pay; 
(Saith  he)  light  burthens  heavy,  if  far  borne. 

DRAYTON. 

FLEDA  pushed  open  the  parlor  door  and  preceded  her  convoy, 
m  a  kind  of  tip-toe  state  of  spirits.  The  first  thing  that  met  her 
eyes  was  her  aunt  in  one  of  the  few  handsome  silks  which  were  al 
most  her  sole  relic  of  past  wardrobe  prosperity,  and  with  a  face 
uncommonly  happy  and  pretty  ;  and  the  next  instant  she  saw  the 
explanation  of  this  appearance  in  her  cousin  Charlton,  a  little 
palish,  but  looking  better  than  she  had  ever  seen  him,  and  another 
gentleman  of  whom  her  eye  took  in  only  the  general  outlines  of 
fashion  and  comfortable  circumstances  ;  now  too  strange  to  it  to 
go  unnoted.  In  Flecla's  usual  mood  her  next  movement  would 
have  been  made  with  a  demureness  that  would  have  looked  like 
bashfulness.  But  the  amusement  and  pleasure  of  the  day  just 
passed  had  for  the  moment  set  her  spirits  free  from  the  burden  that 
generally  bound  them  down  ;  and  they  were  as  elastic  as  her  step 
as  she  came  forward  and  presented  to  her  aunt  "  Dr.  Quacken- 
boss," — and  then  turned  to  shake  her  cousin's  hand. 

"  Charlton  ! — Where  did  you  come  from  ?  We  didn't  expect  you 
so  soon." 

11  You  are  not  sorry  to  see  me,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all — very  glad  ;" — and  then  as  her  eye  glanced  toward 
the  other  new-comer  Charlton  presented  to  her  "  Mr.  Thorn  ; "  and 
Fleda's  fancy  made  a  sudden  quick  leap  on  the  instant  to  the  old 
hall  at  Montepoole  and  the  shot  dog.  And  then  Dr.  Quackenboss 
was  presented,  an  introduction  which  Capt.  Rossitur  received  coldlyc 
and  Mr.  Thorn  with  something  more  than  frigidity. 

The  doctor's  elasticity  however  defied  depression,  especially  in 
the  presence  of  a  silk  dress  and  a  military  coat.  Fleda  presently 
saw  that  he  was  agonizing  her  uncle.  Mrs.  Rossitur  had  drawn 
close  to  her  son.  Fleda  was  left  to  take  care  of  the  other  visitor. 
The  young  men  had  both  seemed  more  struck  at  the  vision  pre 
sented  to  them  than  she  had  been  on  her  part.  She  thought  neither 
of  them  was  very  ready  to  speak  to  her. 

41  I  did  not  know,"  said  Mr.  Thorn  softly,  "  what  reason  I  harf 
to  thank  Rossitur  for  bringing  me  home  with  him  to-night — he 
promised  me  a  supper  and  a  welcome, — but  I  find  he  did  not  tell 
me  the  half  of  my  entertainment." 

"That  was  wise  in  him,"  said  Fleda; — "  the  half  that  is  not  ex 
pected  is  always  worth  a  great  deal  more  than  the  other. 


220  QUEECHY. 

"  In  this  case,  most  assuredly,"  said  Thorn  bowing,  and  Fleda 
was  sure  not  knowing  what  to  make  of  her. 

"  Have  you  been  in  Mexico  too,  Mr.  Thorn  ?  " 

"  Not  I ! — that's  an  entertainment  I  beg  to  decline.  I  never  felt 
inclined  to  barter  an  arm  for  a  shoulder-knot,  or  to  abridge  my 
usual  means  of  locomotion  for  the  privilege  of  riding  on  parade — 
or  selling  oneself  for  a  name — Peter  Schlemii's  selling  his  shadow  I 
can  understand  ;  but  this  is  really  lessening  Oneself  that  one > 
shadow  may  grow  the  larger." 

"  But  you  were  in  the  army  ?  "  said  Fleda. 

"Yes — It  wasn't  my  doing.  There  is  a  time,  you  know,  when 
one  must  please  the  old  folks — I  grew  old  enough  and  wise  enough 
to  cut  loose  from  the  army  before  I  had  gained  or  lost  much  by 
it." 

"  He  did  not  understand  the  displeased  gravity  of  Fleda's  face, 
and  went  on  insinuatingly  ; — 

"  Unless  I  have  lost  what  Charlton  has  gained — something  I  did 
not  know  hung  upon  the  decision — Perhaps  you  think  a  man  is 
taller  for  having  iron  heels  to  his  boots?" 

"  I  do  not  measure  a  man  by  his  inches,"  said  Fleda. 

"  Then  you  have  no  particular  predilection  for  shooting-men  ?' 

"  I  have  no  predilection  for  shooting-  anything,  sir." 

"  Then  I  am  safe  !  "  said  he,  with  an  arrogant  little  air  of  satis 
faction.  "  I  was  born  under  an  indolent  star,  but  I  confess  to  you, 
privately,  of  the  two  I  -would  rather  gather  my  harvests  with  the 
sickle  than  the  sword.  How  does  your  uncle  find  it?  " 

"  Find  what,  sir?  " 

"The  worship  of  Ceres? — I  remember  he  used  to  be  devoted  to 
Apollo  and  the  Muses." 

"  Are  they  rival  deities?  " 

"Why — I  have  been  rather  of  the  opinion  that  they  were  too 
many  for  one  house  to  hold,"  said  Thorn  glancing  at  Mr.  Rossitur. 
"  But  perhaps  the  Graces  manage  to  reconcile  them !  " 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  Graces  getting  supper?  "  said  Fleda, 
"Because  Ceres  sometimes  sets  them  at  that  work.  Uncle  Rolf," 
she  added  as  she  passed  him, — "Mr.  Thorn  is  inquiring  after 
Apollo — will  you  set  him  right,  while  I  do  the  same  for  the  taWe- 
sloth?" 

Her  uncle  looked  from  her  sparkling  eyes  to  the  rather  puzzlec" 
expression  of  his  guest's  face. 

"  I  was  only  asking  your  lovely  niece,"  said  Mr.  Thorn  coming 
down  from  his  stilts, — "  how  you  liked  this  country  life  ?" 

Dr,  Quackenboss  bowed,  probably  in  approbation  of  the 
epithet. 

"  Well  sir — what  information  did  she  give  you  on  the  subject?  " 

"  Left  me  in  the  dark,  sir,  with  a  vague  hope  that  you  would  en 
lighten  me." 

"I  trust  Mr.  Rossitur  can  give  a  favorable  report?"  said  the 
doctor  benignly. 

But  Mr.  Rossitur' s  frowning  brow  looked  very  little  like  it. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  our  country  li'fi     sir?" 

-'  It's  a  confounded  life,  sir,"  »\ossitur,  taking  a  pain 

ohlet  from  the  table  to  feH  and  t\N  i- 1  as  lie  spoke, — "  it  is  a  con' 


QUEECHT.  221 

founded  life  ;  for  the  head  and  the  hands  must  either  live  separate. 
or  the  head  must  do  no  other  work  but  wait  upon  the  hands.  It  is 
an  alternative  of  loss  and  waste,  sir." 

"The  alternative  seems  to  be  of — a — limited  application,"  said 
the  doctor,  as  Fieda,  having  found  that  Hugh  and  JBarby  had  been 
beforehand  with  her,  now  came  back  to  the  company.  "  I  am  sure 
this  lady  would  not  give  such  a  testimony." 

"About  what?"  said  Fleda,  coloring,  under  the  fire  of  so  manj 
lyes. 

"The  blighting  influence  of  Ceres'  sceptre,"  said  Mr.  Thorn, 

"This  country  life,"  said  her  uncle  ; — "  do  you  like  it,   Fleda ?' 

"You  know  uncle,"  said  she  cheerfully,  "I  was  always  of  the 
©Id  Douglasses'  mind — I  like  better  to  hear  the  lark  sing  than  the 
mouse  squeak." 

"  Is  that  one  of  Earl  Douglass's  sayings  ?  "  said  the  doctor. 

"  Yes  sir,"  said  Fleda  with  quivering  lips, — "  but  not  the  one  you 
know — an  older  man." 

"Ah!"  said  the  doctor  intelligently.  "  Mr.  Rossitur, — speaking 
of  hands, — I  have  employed  the  Irish  very  much  of  late  years — 
they  are  as  good  as  one  can  have,  if  you  do  not  want  a  head." 

"  That  is  to  say, — if  you  have  a  head,"  said  Thorn. 

"Exactly!"  said  the  doctor,  all  abroad, — "and  when  there  are 
not  too  many  of  them  together.  I  had  enough  of  that,  sir,  some 
years  ago  when  a  multitude  of  them  were  employed  on  the  public 
works.  The  Irish  were  in  a  state  of  mutilation  sir,  all  through  the 
country." 

"Ah!"  said  Thorn, — "had  the  military  been  at  work  upon 
them?" 

"  No  sir,  but  I  wish  they  had,  I  am  sure  ;  it  would  have  been 
for  the  peace  of  the  town.  There  Were  hundreds  of  them.  We 
were  in  want  of  an  army." 

"Of  surgeons, — I  should  think,"  said  Thorn. 

Fleda  saw  the  doctor's  dubious  air  and  her  uncle's  compressed 
lips  ;  and  commanding  herself,  with  even  a  look  of  something  like 
displeasure  she  quitted  her  seat  oy  Mr.  Thorn  and  called  the  doctor 
to  the  window  to  look  at  a  cluster  of  rose  acacias  just  then  in  their 
glory.  He  admired,  and  she  expatiated,  till  she  hoped  everybody 
but  herself  had  forgotten  what  they  had  b~en  talking  about.  But 
^hey  had  no  sooner  returned  to  their  seats  than  Thorn  began 
*gain. 

"The  Irish  in  your  town  are  not  in  the  sai^e  mutilated  state  now, 
I  suppose,  sir?" 

"  No  sir,  no,"  said  the  doctor  \ — "  there  are  puich  fewer  of  them 
to  break  each  other's  bones.  It  was  all  among  themselves,  sir." 

£'The  country  is  full  of  foreigners,"  said  Mr.  Rossitur  with 
praiseworthy  gravity. 

"  Yes  sir,"  said  Dr.  Quackenboss  thoughtfully  ;— "  ve  >hall  have 
none  of  our  ancestors  left  in  a  short  time,  if  they  go  on  as  they  are 
doing." 

Fleda  was  beaten  from  the  field,  and  rushing  into  the  breakfast- 
room  astonished  Hugh  by  seizing  hold  of  him  and  indulging  in  a 
most  prolonged  and  unbounded  laugh.  She  did  not  show  herself 
again  till  the  company  came  in  to  supper ;  but  then  she  was  found 


*22  QUEECHY. 

*s  grave  as  Minerva.  She  devoted  herself  particularly  to  the  care 
and  entertainment  of  Dr.  Quackenbcss  till  he  took  ieave  ;  nor 
could  Thorn  get  another  chance  to  talk  to  her  through  all  the  even 
ing. 

When  he  and  Rossitur  were  at  last  in  their  rooms  Fleda  told  her 
»tory. 

"  You  don't  know  how  pleasant  it  was,  aunt  Lucy— how  much  I 
?njoyed  it — seeing  and  talking  to  somebody  again,  Mrs  Evelyn 
*as  so  very  kind." 

"  I  am  very  glad,  my  darling,"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur,  stroking  away 
che  hair  from  the  forehead  that  was  bent  down  toward  her  ; — ••  I 
am  glad  you  had  it  to-day,  and  I  ana  glad  you  will  have  it  again 
to-morrow." 

"  You  will  have  it  too,  aunt  Lucy.     Mrs.  Evelyn  wil?  be  here  in 
the  morning — she  said  so." 
1 1  shall  not  see  her." 
Why  ?     Now  aunt  Lucy  ! — you  will." 
I  have  nothing  in  the  world  to  see  her  in — I  cannot." 
You  have  this?" 

'For  the  morning?  A  rich  French  silk? — It  would  be  absurd. 
No,  no, — it  would  be  better  to  wear  my  old  merino  than  that." 

"  But  you  will  have  to  dress  in  the  morning  for  Mr.  Thorn  ?— he 
will  be  here  to  breakfast." 

"  I  shall  not  come  down  to  breakfast. — Don't  look  so,  love  !— V 
can't  help  it." 

"Why  was  that  calico  got  for  me  and  not  for  you  !  "  said  Fleda 
bitterly. 

"A  sixpenny  calico,"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur  smiling, — "it  v.ould  be 
hard  if  you  could  not  have  so  much  as  that,  love." 

"And  you  will  not  see  Mrs.  Evelyn  and  her  daughters  at  all! — 
and  I  was  thinking  that  it  would  do  you  so  much  good  ! — " 

Mrs.  Rossitur  drew  her  face  a  little  nearer  and  kissed  it,  over 
and  over. 

"  It  will  do  you  good,  my  darling — that  is  what  I  care  for  much 
more." 

"  It  will  not  do  me  half  as  much,"  said  Fleda  sighing. 

Her  spirits  were  in  their  old  place  again;  no  more  a  tip-toe  to 
night.  The  short  light  of  pleasure  was  overcast.  She  went  to  bed 
feeling  very  quiet  indeed  ;  and  received  Mrs.  Evelyn  and  excused 
her  aunt  the  next  day,  almost  wishing  the  lady  had  not  been  as 
good  as  her  word.  But  though  in  the  same  mood  she  set  off  with 
her  to  drive  to  Montepoole,  it  could  not  stand  the  bright  influences 
with  which  she  found  herself  surrounded.  She  came  home  again 
at  night  with  dancing  spirits. 

It  was  some  days  before  Capt.  Rossitur  began  at  all  to  compre 
hend  the  change  which  had  come  upon  his  family.  One  morning 
Fleda  and  Hugh  having  finished  their  morning's  work  were  in  the 
breakfast-room  waiting  for  the 'rest  of  the  family,  when  Chailton 
made  his  appearance,  with  the  cloud  on  his  brow  which  had  been 
lately  gathering-. 

"  Where  is  the  paper?  "  said  he.  "  I  haven't  seen  a  paper  since 
I  have  been  here." 

"You  mustn't  expect  to  find  Mexican  luxuries  in  Queechy,  Capt, 


QUMECHT.  223 

Rossitur,"   said   Fleda  pleasantly. — "  Look  at  these    roses,    and 
don't  ask  me  for  papers !  " 

He  did  look  a  minute  at  the  dish  of  flowers  she  was  arranging 
for  the  breakfast  table,  and  at  the  rival  freshness  and  sweetness  of 
the  face  that  hung  over  them. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  live  without  a  paper?  " 

"  Well  it's  astonishing  how  many  things  people  can  live  without,*' 
said  Fleda  rather  dreamily,  intent  upon  settling  an  uneasy  rose 
that  would  topple  over. 

"  I  wish  you'd  answer  me  really,"  said  Charlton.  "  Don't  yot 
take  a  paper  hem?  " 

"  We  would  take  one  thankfully  if  it  would  be  so  good  as  to 
come  ;  but  seriously  Charlton  we  haven't  any,"  she  said  changing 
her  tone. 

"  And  have  you  done  without  one  all  through  the  war  ?  " 

««No — we  used  to  borrow  one  from  a  kind  neighbor  once  in  a 
while,  to  make  sure,  as  Mr.  Thorn  says,  that  you  had  not  bartered 
an  arm  for  a  shoulder-knot." 

"  You  never  looked  to  see  whether  I  was  killed  in  the  meanwhile, 
I  suppose?" 

««No — never,"  said  Fleda  gravely,  as  she  look  her  place  on  a 
low  seat  in  the  corner, — "  I  always  knew  you  were  safe  before  J 
touched  the  paper." 

."  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  an  enemy,  Charlton,"  said  Fleda  laughing.  "  I  mean 
that  I  used  to  make  aunt  Miriam  look  over  the  accounts  before  I 
did." 

Charlton  walked  up  and  down  the  room  for  a  little  while  in  sul* 
*en  silence  ;  and  then  brought  up  before  Fleda. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  " 

Fleda  looked  up, — a  glance  that  as  sweetly  and  brightly  as  pos 
sible  half  asked  half  bade  him  be  silent  and  ask  no  questions. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  I  am  putting  a  patch  on  my  shoe." 

His  look  expressed  more  indignation  than  anything  else. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Just  what  I  say,"  said  Fleda,  going  on  with  her  work. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  all  the  cobblers  in  the  land  do  you  do  i 
far?" 

"  Because  I  prefer  it  to  having  a  hole  in  my  shoe  ;  which  would 
give  me  the  additional  trouble  of  mending  my  stockings." 

Charlton  muttered  an  impatient  sentence,  of  which  Fleda  only 
understood  that  "  the  devil  "  was  in  it,  and  then  desired  to  know 
if  whole  shoes  would  not  answer  the  purpose  as  well  as  either 
holes  or  patches  ? 

"Quite — if  I  had  them,"  said  Fleda,  giving  him  another  glance 
which  with  all  its  gravity  and  sweetness  carried  also  a  little  gentle 
reproach. 

"  But  do  you  know,"  said  he  after  standing  still  a  minute  looking 
at  her,  "that  any  cobbler  in  the  country  would  do  what  you  arc 
doing  much  better  for  sixpence  ?  " 

"I  am  quite  aware  of  that,"  said  Fleda,  stitching  away* 

'•Your  hands  are  not  strong  enough  fc»r  that  work!  " 


324  QUEECB?. 

Fleda  again  smiled  at  him,  in  the  very  dint  of  giving  a  hard 

push  to  her  needle;  a  smile  that  wculd  have  witched  him  into 
good-humor  if  he  had  not  been  determinately  in  a  cloud  and  proof 
against  everything.  It  only  admonished  him  that  he  could  not 
safely  remain  in  the  region  of  sunbeams ;  and  he  walked  up  and 
down  the  room  furiously  again.  The  sudden  ceasing  of  his  foot 
steps  presently  made  her  look  up. 

"What  have  you  got  there? — Oh  Charlton  don't!— please  pu( 
that  down  ! — I  didn't  know  I  had  left  them  there — They  were  a 
Mttle  wet  and  I  laid  them  on  the  chair  to  dry." 

"What  do  you  call  this?"  said  he,  not  minding  her  request. 

"  They  are  only  my  gardening  gloves — I  thought  I  had  put  them 
away." 

"Gloves!"  said  he,  pulling  at  them  disdainfully, — "  why  here 
are  two — one  within  the  other — what's  that  for?" 

"  It's  an  old-fashioned  way  of  mending  matters, — two  friends 
covering  each  other's  deficiencies.  The  inner  pair  are  too  thin 
alone,  and  the  outer  ones  have  holes  that  are  past  cobbling." 

41  Are  we  going  to  have  any  breakfast  to-day  ?  "  said  he  flinging 
the  gloves  down.  "  You  are  very  late  !  " 

"  No,"  said  Fleda  quietly, — "  it  is  not  time  for  aunt  Lucy  to  be 
down  yet." 

"  Don't  you  have  breakfast  before  nine  o'clock?" 

•  «  Yes — by  half-past  eight  generally." 

"  Strange  way  of  getting  along  on  a  farm ! — Well  I  can't  wait — 
I  promised  Thorn  I  would  meet  him  this  morning — Barby  ! — I  wish 
you  would  bring  me  my  boots  ! — " 

Fleda  made  two  springs, — one  to  touch  Chariton's  mouth,  the 
other  to  close  the  door  of  communication  with  the  kitchen. 

"  Well!— what  is  the  matter?— can't  I  have  them?" 

"Yes,  yes,  but  ask  me  for  what  you  want.  You  mustn't  call 
upon  Barby  in  that  fashion." 

"  Why  not  ?  is  she  too  good  to  be  spoken  to?  What  is  she  in  the 
kitchen  for?  " 

"  She  wouldn't  be  in  the  kitchen  long  if  we  were  to  speak  to  her 
in  that  way,"  said  Fleda.  "1  suppose  she  would  as  soon  put 
/our  boots  an  for  you  as  fetch  and  carry  them.  I'll  see  about  it." 

"  It  seems  to  me  Fleda  rules  the  house,"  remarked  Capt.  Ros 
$kur  when  she  had  left  the  room. 

••  Well  who  should  rule  it  ?  "  said  Hugh. 

"Not  she!  " 

"I  don't  think  she  does,"  said  Hugh;  "but  if  she  did,  I  am  sure 
it  could  not  be  in  better  hands." 

"  It  shouldn't  be  in  her  hands  at  all.  But  I  have  noticed  since 
I  have  been  here  that  she  takes  the  arrangement  of  almost 
everything.  My  mother  seems  to  have  nothing  to  do  in  her  own 
family." 

"  I  wonder  what  the  family  or  anybody  in  it  would  do  without 
Fleda!"  said  Hugh,  his  gentle  eyes  quite  firing  with  indignation. 
"  You  had  better  know  more  before  you  speak,  Charlton." 

•"  What  is  there  for  me  to  know  ?  " 

"  Fleda  does  everything." 

"  So  I  say  ;  and  that  is  what  I  don't  like." 


QUEECHY.  221 

"How  little  you  know  what  you  are  talking  aoout:  said 
Hugh.  "  I  can  tell  you  she  is  the  life  of  the  house,  aim  st  liter 
ally  ;  we  should  have  had  little  enough  to  live  upon  this  summer  if 
it  had  not  been  for  her." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " — impatiently  enough. 

"  Fleda — if  it  had  not  been  for  her  gardening  and  management. 
She  has  taken  care  of  the  garden  these  two  years  and  sold  I 
can't  tell  you  how  much  from  it.  Mr.  Sweet,  the  hotel-man  at 
jhe  Pool,  takes  all  we  can  give  him." 

"  How  much  does  her  •  taking  care  of  the  garden  '  amount  to  ?  " 

cc  It  amounts  to  all  the  planting  and  nearly  all  the  other  work, 
after  the  first  digging, — by  far  the  greater  part  of  it." 

Charlton  walked  up  and  down  a  few  turns  in  most  unsatisfied  si 
lence. 

"  How  does  she  get  the  things  to  Montepoole?  " 

•"I  take  them." 

-You!— When?" 

"  I  ride  with  4hem  there  before  breakfast.  Fleda  is  up  very  early 
to  gather  them." 

"  You  have  not  been  there  this  morning?  " 

"Yes." 

"With  what?" 

"  Peas  and  strawberries." 

"  And  Fleda  picked  them  ?  " 

"  Yes — with  some  help  from  Barby  and  me.v 

"  That  glove  of  heis  was  wringing  wet." 

"  Yes,  with  the  pea-vines,  and  strawberries  too  ;  you  know  they 
get  so  loaded  with  dew.  O  Fieda  gets  more  than  her  gloves  wet. 
But  she  does  not  mind  anything  she  does  for  father  and  mother." 

"  Humph  ! — And  docs  she  get  enough  when  all  is  done  to  pay  for 
the  trouble?  " 

"I  don't  knowt  said  Hugh  rather  sadly.  "  Sh*  thinks  so.  It 
is  no  trifle." 

"  Which  ?— the  pay  or  the  trouble  ?  " 

"  Both.  But  I  meant  the  pay.  Why  she  made  ten  dollars  las? 
Year  from  the  asparagus  beds  alone,  and  I  dotf  •  know  how  much 
more  this  year." 

••  Ten  dollars  !—  The  devil !" 

«•  Why?" 

"  Have  you  come  to  counting  your  dollars  by  the  tens?" 

"  We  have  counted  our  sixpences  so  a  good  while,"  said  High 
quietly. 

Charlton  strode  about  the  room  again  in  much  perturbation.  Tnen 
came  in  Fieda,  looking  as  bright  as  if  dollars  had  been  counted  by 
the  thousand,  and  bearing  his  boots. 

"What  on  earth  did  you  do  that  for?"  said  he  angrily.  "I 
could  have  gone  for  them  myself." 

"  No  harm  done,"  said  Fleda  lightly, — "  only  I  have  got  some 
thing  else  instead  of  the  thanks  I  expected." 

"I  can't  conceive,"  said  he,  sitting  down  and  sulkily  drawing 
on  his  foot-gear,  "  why  this  piece  of  punctiliousness  should  have 
made  any  more  difficulty  about  bringing  me  my  boots  than  about 
blacking  them."  » 


326  qUEECHY. 

A  sly  glance  of  intelligence,  which  Charlton  was  quick  enough  to 
detect,  passed  between  Fleda  and  Hugh.  His  eye  carried  its  ques 
tion  from  one  to  the  other.  Fleda' s  gravity  gave  way. 

"Don't  look  at  me  so,  Charlton,"  said  she  laughing; — "  I  can't 
help  it,  you  are  so  excessively  comical ! — I  recommend  that  you 
go  out  upon  the  grass-plat  before  the  door  and  turn  round  two  or 
three  times." 

"Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  explain  yourself?  Who  did 
black  these  boots?  " 

"  Never  pry  into  the  secrets  of  families,"  said  Fleda.  "  Hugh 
and  I  have  a  couple  of  convenient  little  fairies  in  our  service  that.do 
ihings  unknowmt" 

"I  blacked  them,  Charlton,"  said  Hugh. 

Capt.  Rossitur  gave  his  slippers  a  fling  that  carried  them  clean 
into  the  corner  of  the  room.  ^ 

"  I  will  see,"  he  said  rising,  "whether  some  other  service  can 
not  be  had  more  satisfactory  than  that  of  fairies !  " 

"  Now  Charlton,"  said  Fleda  with  a  sudden  change  of  manner, 
coming  to  him  and  laying  her  hand  most  gently  on  his  arm, — 
"please  don't  speak  about  these  things  before  uncle  Rolf  or  your 
mother — Please  do  not! — Charlton? — It  would  only  do  a  great 
deal  of  harm  and  do  no  good." 

She  looked  up  in  his  face,  but  he  would  not  meet  her  pleading 
eye,  and  shook  off  her  hand. 

"  I  don't  need  to  be  instructed  how  to  speak  to  my  father  and 
mother  ;  and  I  am  not  one  of  the  household  that  has  submitted 
itself  to  your  direction." 

Fleda  sat  down  on  her  bench  and  was  quiet,  but  with  a  lip  that 
trembled  a  little  and  eyes  that  let  fall  one  or  two  witnesses  against 
him.  Charlton  did  not  see  them,  and  he  knew  better  than  to  meet 
Hugh's  look  of  reproach.  But  for  all  that  there  was  a  certain  con 
sciousness  that  hung  about  the  neck  of  his  purpose  and  kept  it  down 
in  spite  of  him  ;  and  it  was  not  till  breakfast  was  half  over  that  his 
ill-humor  could  make  head  against  this  gentle  thwarting  and  cast  it 
off.  For  so  long  the  meal  was  excessively  dull.  Hugh  and  Fleda 
bad  their  own  thoughts  ;  Charlton  was  biting  his  resolution  into 
every  slice  of  bread  and  butter  that  occupied  him  ;  and  Mr.  Ros- 
situr's  face  looked  like  anything  but  encouraging  an  inquiry  into  his 
affairs.  Since  his  son's  arrival  he  had  been  most  uncommonly 
gloomy;  and  Mrs.  Rossitur's  face  was  never  in  sunshine  when  his 
was  in  shade. 

"  You'll  have  a  warm  day  of  it  at  the  mill,  Hugh,"  said  Fleda, 
by  way  of  saying  something  to  break  the  dismal  monotony  of  knives 
and  forks. 

"  Does  that  mill  make  much  ?  "  suddenly  inquired  Charlton. 

"  It  has  made  a  n*w  bridge  to  the  brook,  literally,"  said  Fleda 
gayly  ;  "for  it  has  bawn  out  the  boards;  and  you  know  you 
mustn't  speak  evil  of  what  carries  you  over  the  water." 

"  Does  that  mill  pay  for  the  working?"  said  Charlton,  turning 
with  the  dryest  disregard  from  hen  interference  and  addressing  him 
self  deterininately  to  his  father. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  It  does  not  work  gratuitously,"  answered 
Mr.  Rossitur,  with  at  least  equal  dryness. 


QUEECHY.  227 

*'  But,  I  mean,  are  the  profits  of  it  enough  to  pay  for  the  loss  of 
Hugh's  time  ? 

"  If  Hugh  judges  they  are  not,  he  is  at  liberty  to  let  it  alone." 

"  My  time  is  not  lost,"  said  Hugh  ;  "  I  don't  know  what  I  should 
do  with  it." 

"I  don't  know  what  we  should  do  without  the  mill,"  said  Mrs. 
Rossitur. 

That  gave  Charlton  an  unlucky  opening. 

"  Has  the  rjrospect  of  farming  disappointed  you,  father?  " 

"What  is  the  prospect  of  your  company?"  said  Mr.  Rossitui; 
swallowing  half  an  egg  before  he  replied. 

"  A  very  limited  prospect !  "  said  Charlton, — "if  you  mean  the 
one  that  went  with  me.  Not  a  fifth  part  of  them  left." 

"  What  have  you  done  with  them  ?  " 

"  Showed  them  where  the  balls  were  flying,  sir,  and  did  my  best 
to  show  them  the  thickest  of  it." 

"  Is  it  necessary  to  show  it  to  us  too?"  said  Fleda. 

"  I  believe  there  are  not  twenty  living  that  followed  me  into 
Mexico,"  he  went  on,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  her. 

"  Was  all  that  havoc  made  in  one  engagement?"  said  Mrs.  Ros 
situr,  whose  cheek  had  turned  pale. 

"  Yes  mother — in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes." 

"I  wonder  what  would  pay  for  that  loss!"  said  Fleda  indig 
nantly. 

"Why,  the  point  was  gained!  and  it  did  not  signify  what  the 
cost  was  so  we  did  that.  My  poor  boys  were  a  small  part  of  it." 

"  What  point  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  the  point  we  had  in  view,  which  was  taking  the  place." 

"And  what  was  the  advantage  of  gaining  the  place." 

"  Pshaw  ! — The  advantage  of  doing  one's  duty." 

"  But  what  made  it  duty  ?  "  said  Hugh. 

41  Orders." 

"  I  grant  you,"  said  iHeda, — "  I  understand  that — but  bear 
with  me,  Charlton, — what  was  the  Advantage  to  the  army  or  the 
country  ?  " 

"The  advantage  of  great  honor  if  we  succeeded,  and  avoiding  the 
shame  of  failure." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  said  Hugh. 

"  A.11!  "  said  Charlton. 

"  Glory  must  be  a  precious  thing  when  other  men's  lives  are  so 
eheap  to  buy  it,"  said  Fleda. 

"  We  did  not  risk  theirs  without  our  own,"  said  Charlton  color 
ing. 

••  No, — but  still  theirs  were  risked  for  you." 

"  Not  at  all  ; — why  this  is  absurd  !  you  are  saying  that  the  whole 
war  was  for  nothing.' 

"  What  better  than  nothing  was  the  end  of  it ;  We  paid  Mexico 
for  the  territory  she  yielded  to  us,  didn't  we,  uncle  Rolf?  " 

"Yes." 

"  How  much  ?  " 

"  Twenty  millions,  I  believe." 

'•And  what  do  you  suppose  the  war  has  cost?  " 
•Hum — I  don't  know, — a  hundred." 


228  QUEECHY. 

"A  hundred  million!  besides— how  much  besides! — And  don't 
you  suppose,  uncle  Rolf,  that  for  half  of  that  sum  Mexico  would 
have  sold  us  peaceably  what  she  did  in  the  end  ?  " 

"  It  is  possible — I  think  it  is  very  likely." 

"  What  was  the  fruit  of  the  war,  Capt.  Rossitur?  " 

"  Way,  a  great  deal  of  honor  to  the  army  and  the  nation  at 
large." 

"Honor  again!  But  granting  that  the  army  gained  it,  which 
they  certainly  did,  for  one  I  do  not  feel  very  proud  of  the  natior'1 
share. ' ' 

"Why  th^y  are  one,"  said  Charlton  impatiently. 

"  In  an  unjust  war?  " 

"It  was  no!  an  unjust  war  !  " 

"That's  what  you  call  a  knock-downer,"  said  Fleda  laughing, 
••  But  I  confess  myself  so  simple  as  to  have  agreed  with  Seth  Plum- 
field,  when  I  heard  him  and  Lucas  disputing  about  it  last  winter, 
that  it  was  a  shame  to  a  great  and  strong  nation  like  ours  to  dis 
play  its  might  in  crushing  a  weak  one." 

"  But  they  drew  it  upon  themselves.      They  began  hostilities." 

"  There  is  a  diversity  of  opinion  about  that.". 

"  Not  in  heads  that  have  two  grains  of  information." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Mrs.  Evelyn  and  Judge  Sensible  were  talking 
over  that  very  question  the  other  day  at  Montepoole  ;  and  he  made 
it  quite  clear  to  my  mind  that  we  were  the  aggressors." 

"  Judge  Sensible  is  a  fool !  "  said  Mr.  Rossitur, 

"  Very  well !  "  said  Fleda  laughing  ;— "  but  as  I  do  not  wish  to 
be  comprehended  in  the  same  class,  will  you  show  me  how  he  was 
•wrong,  uncle  ?  " 

This  drew  on  a  discussion  of  some  length,  to  which  Fleda  listened 
•with  profound  attention,  long  after  her  aunt  had  ceased  to  listen  at 
all,  and  Hugh  was  thoughtful,  and  Charlton  disgusted.  At  the  end 
of  it  Mr.  Rossitur  left  the  table  and  the  room,  and  Fleda  subsiding 
turned  to  her  cold  coffee-cup. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  ever  cared  anything  about  politics  before," 
said  Hugh. 

"  Didn't  you?  "  said  Fleda  smiling.     "  You  do  me  injustice." 

Their  eyes  met  for  a  second,  with  a  most  appreciating  smile  on  his 
part ;  and  then  he  too  went  off  to  his  work.  There  was  a  few 
minutes'  silent  pause  after  that. 

"  Mother,"  said  Charlton  looking  up  and  bursting  forth,  "  what  is 
all  this  about  the  mill  and  the  farm  ? — Is  not  the  farm  doing  well?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  not  very  well,"  said  Mrs.   Rossitur  gently. 

"  What  is  the  difficulty  ?  " 

"  Why,  your  father  has  let  it  to  a  man  by  the  name  of  Diden- 
hover,  and  I  am  afraid  he  is  not  faithful  ;  it  does  not  seem  to  bring 
us  in  what  it  ought." 

"  What  did  he  do  that  for  ?  " 

"  He  was  wearied  with  the  annoyances  he  had  to  endure  be 
fore,  and  thought  it  would  be  better  and  more  profitable  to  have 
somebody  else  take  the  whole  charge  and  management.  He  did 
not  know  Didenhover's  character  at  the  time." 

"  Engaged  him  without  knowing  him  !  " 

Fleda  was  the  only  third  party  present,  and  Charlton  unwittingly 


QUEECHY.  296 

allowing  himself  to  meet  her  eye  received  a  look  of  keen  displeasure 
that  he  was  not  prepared  for. 

41  That  is  not  like  him,"  he  said  in  a  much  moderated  tone. 
"  But  you  must  be  changed  too,  mother,  or  you  would  not  endure 
such  anomalous  service  in  your  kitchen." 

"  There  are  a  great  many  changes,  dear  Charlton,"  said  his 
mother,  looking  at  him  with  such  a  face  of  sorrowful  sweetness  and 
patience  that  his  mouth  was  stopped.  Fled  a  left  the  room. 

"And  have  you  really  nothing  to  depend  upon  but  that  child's 
strawberries  and  Hugh's  wood-saw?  "  he  said  in  the  tone  he  ought 
to  have  used  from  the  beginning. 

"  Little  else." 

Charlton  stifled  two  or  three  sentences  that  rose  to  his  lips,  and 
began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room  again.  His  mother  sat  mus 
ing  by  the  tea-board  still,  softly  clinking  her  spoon  against  the  edge 
of  her  tea-cup. 

"  She  has  grown  up  very  pretty,"  he  remarked  after  a  pause. 

"  Pretty  !  "  said  Mrs.   Rossitur. 

"Why?" 

"  No  one  that  has  seen  much  of  Fleda  would  ever  describe  her 
by  that  name." 

Charlton  had  the  candor  to  think  he  had  seen  something  of  her 
that  morning. 

"Poor  child!"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur  sadly, — "I  can't  bear  to 
think  of  her  spending  her  life  as  she  is  doing — wearing  herself 
out,  I  know,  sometimes — and  buried  alive." 

"  Buried  !  "  said  Charlton  in  his  turn. 

"Yes — without  any  of  the  advantages  and  opportunities  she 
ought  to  have.  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it.  And  yet  how  should  I 
ever  live  without  her  !  " — said  Mrs.  Rossitur,  leaning  her  face  upon 
her  hands,  "  And  if  she  were  known  she  would  not  be  mine  long. 
But  it  grieves  me  to  have  her  go  without  her  music,  that  she  is  so 
fond  of,  and  the  books  she  wants — she  and  Hugh  have  gone  from 
end  to  end  of  every  volume  there  is  in"  the  house,  I  believe,  in 
every  language,  except  Greek." 

"  Well  she  looks  pretty  happy  and  contented,  mother." 

"  I  don't  know  !  "  said  Mrs.  Rossitur  shaking  her  head. 

"  Isn't  she  happy?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur  again  ; — "she  has  a  spirit 
chat  is  happy  in  doing  her  duty,  or  anything  for  those  she  loves  ; 
but  I  see  her  sometimes  wearing  a  look  that  pains  me  exceed 
ingly.  I  am  afraid  the  way  she  lives  and  the  changes  in  our  af 
fairs  have  worn  upon  her  more  than  we  know  of — she  feels  doubly 
everything  that  touches  me,  or  Hugh,  or  your  father.  She  is  a 
gentle  spirit ! — " 

"She  seems  to  me  not  to  want  character,"  said  Charlton. 

"  Character  !  I  don't  know  who  has  so  much.  She  has  at  least 
fifty  tim,es  as  much  character  as  I  have.  And  energy.  She  is  ad 
mirable  at  managing  people — she  knows  how  to  influence  them 
somehow  so  that  everybody  doe.«  what  she  wants.'' 

"  And  who  influences  her  r    said  Charlton. 

"  Who  influences  her?  Everybody  that  she  loves.  Who  has  the 
most  influence  over  her,  do  you  mean? — I  am  sure  I  don't  know 


230  QUEECHY. 

— Hugh,  if  anybody, — but  she  is  rather  the  moving  spirit  of  the 
household." 

Capt.  Rossitur  resolved  that  he  would  be  an  exception  to  her  rule. 

He  forgot  however,  for  some  reason  or  other,  to  sound  his 
father  any  more  on  the  subject  of  mismanagement.  His  thoughts 
indeed  were  more  pleasantly  taken  up. 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

My  lord  Sebastian, 

The  truth  you  speak  doth  lack  some  gentleness 
And  time  to  speak  it  in  :  you  rub  the  sore, 
When  you  should  bring  the  plaster. 

TEMPEST. 

THE  Evelyns  spent  several  weeks  at  the  Pool  ;  and  both  mother 
and  daughters  conceiving  a  great  affection  for  Fleda  kept  her  in 
their  company  as  much  as  possible.  For  those  weeks  Fleda  had 
enough  of  gayety.  She  was  constantly  spending  the  day  with  them 
at  the  Pool,  or  going  on  some  party  of  pleasure,  or  taking  quiet 
sensible  walks  and  rides  with  them  alone  or  with  only  one  or  two 
more  of  the  most  rational  and  agreeable  people  that  the  place  could 
command.  And  even  Mrs.  Rossitur  was  persuaded,  more  times 
than  one,  to  put  herself  in  her  plainest  remaining  French  silk  and 
entertain  the  whole  party,  with  the  addition  of  one  or  two  of  Charl- 
ton's  friends,  at  her  Queechy  farm-house. 

Fleda  enjoyed  it  all  with  the  quick  spring  of  a  mind  habitually 
bent  to  the  patient  fulfilment  of  duty  and  habitually  under  the 
pressure  of  rather  sobering  thoughts.  It  was  a  needed  and  very 
useful  refreshment.  Charlton's  being  at  home  gave  her  the  full 
good  of  the  opportunity  more  than  would  else  have  been  possi 
ble.  He  was  her  constant  attendant)  driving  her  to  and  from  the 
Pool,  and  finding  as  much  to  call  him  there  as  she  had ;  for  besides 
the  Evelyns  his  friend  Thorn  abode  there  all  this  time.  The  only 
drawback  to  Fleda' s  pleasure  as  she  drove  off  from  Queechy  would 
be  the  leaving  Hugh  plodding  away  at  his  saw-mill.  She  used  to 
nod  and  wave  to  him  as  they  went  by,  and  almost  feel  that  she 
ought  not  to  go  on  and  enjoy  herself  while  he  was  tending  that 
wearisome  machinery  all  day  long.  Still  she  went  on  and  enjoyed 
herself ;  but  the  mere  thought  of  his  patient  smile  as  she  passed 
would  have  kept  her  from  too  much  elation  of  spirits,  if  there  had 
been  any  danger.  There  never  was  any. 

"That's  a  lovely  little  cousin  of  yours,"  said  Thorn  one  evening, 
when  he  and  Rossitur,  on  horseback,  were  leisurely  making  their 
way  along  the  up  and  down  road  between  Montepoole  and  Queechy. 

"  She  is  not  particularly  little,"  said  Rossitur  with  a  dryness  that 
somehow  lacked  any  savor  of  gratification. 

"  She  is  of  a  most  fair  stature,"  said  Thorn  ; — "  I  did  not  mean 
anything  against  that, — but  there  are  characters  to  which  one  gives 
instinctively  a  softening  appellative." 

"  Are  there  ?  "  said  Charlton. 

••  Yes.     She  is  a  lovely  little  creature." 

"  She  is  not  to  compare  to  one  of  those  girls  we  have  1«A  behiad 
O6  at  Montepoole,"  said  Charlton. 


QUEECHY.  *31 

"  Hum — well  perhaps  you  are  right  ;  but  which  girl  do  you  mean  I 
—for  I  profess  I  don't  know." 

"The  second  of  Mrs.  Evelyn's  daughters— the  auburn-haired 
one." 

"Miss  Constance,  eh?"  said  Thorn.  "  In  what  isn't  the  other 
one  to  be  compared  to  her? " 

"  In  anything  !  Nobody  would  ever  think  of  looking  at  herinth* 
same  room  ? ' ' 

"  Why  not?  "  said  Thorn  coolly. 

"  I  don't  know  why  not,"  said  Charlton,  "  except  that  she  haf 
not  a  tithe  of  her  beauty.  That's  a  superb  girl !  " 

For  a  matter  of  twenty  yards  Mr.  Thorn  went  softly  humming  a 
tune  to  himself  and  leisurely  switching  the  flies  off  his  horse. 

"  Well  " — said  he, — "  there's  no  accounting  for  tastes — 

« I  ask  no  red  arid  white 
To  make  up  my  delight, 
No  odd  becoming  graces, 
Black  eyes,  or  little  know-not-what  in  faces.'  " 

"What  do  you  want  then  ?  "  said  Charlton,  half  laughing  at  him, 
though  his  friend  was  perfectly  grave. 

"  A  cool  eye,  and  a  mind  in  it." 

"A  cool  eye  !  "  said  Rossitur. 

"  Yes.  Those  we  have  left  behind  us  are  arrant  will-o'the-wisps 
— dancing  fires — no  more." 

"  1  can  tell  you  there  is  fire  sometimes  in  the  other  eyes,"  said 
Charlton. 

"Very  likely,"  said  his  friend  composedly, — "I  could  have 
guessed  as  much  ;  but  that  is  a  fire  you  may  warm  yourself  at  ;  no 
eternal  phosphorescence  ; — it  is  the  leaping  up  of  an  internal  fire, 
that  only  shows  itself  upon  occasion." 

"  I  suppose  you  know  what  you  are  talking  about,"  said  Charl 
ton,  "  but  I  can't  follow  you  into  the  region  of  volcanos.  Constance 
Evelyn  has  superb  eyes.  It  is  uncommon  to  see  a  light  blue  so 
brilliant."  • 

"  I  would  rather  trust  a  sick  head  to  the  handling  of  the  lovely 
Jady  than  the  superb  one,  at  a  venture." 

"  I  thought  you  never  had  a  sick  head,"  said  Charlton. 

"That  is  lucky  for  me,  as  the  hands  do  not  happen  to  be  at  my 
service.  But  no  imagination  could  put  Miss  Constance  in  Desde 
mona's  place,  when  Othello  complained  of  his  headache, — you  re 
member,  Charlton, —  % 

'  'Faith,  that's  with  watching — 'twill  away  again — > 
Let  me  but  bind  this  handkerchief  about  it  hard.' ': 

Thorn  gave  the  intonation  truly  and  admirably. 
"  Fleda  never  said  anything  so  soft  as  that,"  said  Charlton. 
"No?" 
"No." 

"  You  speak — well,  but  soft! — do  you  know  what  you  are  talking 
about  there?" 

"  Not  very  well,"  said  Charlton.     "  I  only  remember  there  wa§ 


03**  QUEECHY. 

nothing  soft  about  Othello, — what  you  quoted  of  his  wife   just  now 
seemed  to  me  to  smack  of  that  quality." 

"  I  forgive  your  memory,"  said  Thorn,  "  or  else  I  certainly  would 
not  forgive  you.  If  there  is  a  fair  creation  in  all  Shakespeare  it  is 
Desdemona  ;  and  if  there  is  a  pretty  combination  on  earth  that 
nearly  matches  it,  I  believe  it  is  that  one." 

"What  one?" 

"  Your  pretty  consin." 

Charlton  was  silent. 

"  It  is  generous  in  me  to  undertake  her  defence,"  Thorn  went  oi> 
c'for  she  bestows  as  little  of  her  fair  countenance  upon  me  as  shd 
can  well  help.  But  try  as  she  will,  she  cannot  be  so  repellant  as 
she  is  attractive." 

Charlton  pushed  his  horse  into  a  brisker  pace  not  favorable  to . 
conversation  ;  and  they  rode  forward  in  silence,  till  in  descending 
the  hill  below  Deepwater  they  came  within  view  of  Hugh's  work" 
place,  the  saw-mill.  Charlton  suddenly  drew  bridle. 

"  There  she  is." 

"  And  who  is  with  her  ?  "  said  Thorn.  "  As  I  live  ! — our  friend 
' — what's  his  name  ? — who  has  lost  all  his  ancestors. — And  who  is 
the  other?" 

"  My  brother,"  said  Charlton. 

"I  don't  mean  your  brother,  Capt.  Rossitur,"  said  Thorn  throw 
ing  himself  off  his  horse. 

He  joined  the  party,  who  were  just  leaving  the  mill  to  go  down 
toward  the  house.  Very  much  at  his  leisure  Charlton  dismounted 
and  came  after  him. 

"  I  have  brought  Charlton  safe  home,  Miss  Ringgan,"  said  Thorn, 
who  leading  his  horse  had  quietly  secured  a  position  at  her  side. 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  Fleda  laughing.  "Couldn't  he 
bring  himself  home  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what's  the  matter,  but  he's  been  uncommonly 
dumpish — we've  been  as  near  as  possible  to  quarrelling  for  half  a 
dozen  miles  back." 

"  We  have  been — a — more  agreeably  employed,"  said  Dr.  Quack- 
enboss  looking  round  at  him  with  a  face  that  was  a  concentration  of 
affability. 

"  I  make  no  doubt  of  it,  sir  ;  I  trust  we  shall  bring  no  unharmon* 
sous  interruption. — If  I  may  change  somebody  else's  words,"  he 
added  more  low  to  Fleda, — "  disdain  itself  must  convert  to  courtesy 
in  your  presence.'  ' 

"  I  am  sorry  disdain  should  live  to  pay  me  a  compliment,"  said 
Fleda.  "  Mr.  Thorn,  may  I  introduce  to  you  Mr,  Olmney." 

Mr.  Thorn  honored  the  introduction  with  perfect  civility,  but  then 
fell  back  to  his  former  position  and  slightly  lowered  tone. 

"  Are  you  then  a  sworn  foe  to  compliments  ?  " 

"  I  was  never  so  fiercely  attacked  by  them  as  to  give  me  any 
occasion." 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  furnish  the  occasion, — but  what's  the 
harm  in  them,  Miss  Ringgan  ?  " 

"Chiefly  a  want  of  agieeableness." 

"Of  agreeableness  ! — Pardon  me — I  hope  you  will  be  so  good  as 
fco  give  me  the  rationale  of  that?" 


: 


388 

"1  am  of  Miss  Edgeworth's  opinion,  sir,"  sam  Fleda  blushing, 
"  that  a  lady  may  always  judge  of  the  estimation  in  which  she  is 
held  by  the  conversation  which  is  addressed  to  her." 

"  And  you  judge  compliments  to  be  a  doubtful  indication  of  es< 
teem  ? ' ' 

"  I  am  sine  you  do  not  need  information  on  that  point,  sir." 

"As  to  your  opinion,  or  the  matter  of  fact?"  said  he  somewhat 
keenly. 

"As  to  the  matter  of  fact,"  said  Fleda,  with  a  glance  both  sin- 
pie  and  acute  in  its  expression. 

"  I  will  not  venture  to  say  a  word,"  said  Thorn  smiling.     "  Pro 
testations  would   certainly   fall  flat  at  the  gates  where  les  douce^ 
'paroles  cannot   enter.     But  do  you  know  this  is  picking  a  man's 
pocket  of  all  his  silver  pennies  and  obliging  him  to  produce  his 
gold." 

"That  would  be   a  hard  measure  upon  a  good  many  people/ 
said  Fleda  laughing.     "  But  they're  not  driven  to  that.     There's 
plenty  of  small  change  left." 

"  You  certainly  do  not  deal  in  the  coin  you  condemn,"  said 
Thorn  bowing.  "But  you  will  remember  that  none  call  for  gold 
but  those  who  can  exchange  it,  and  the  number  of  them  is  few.  In 
a  world  where  cowrie  passes  current  a  man  may  be  excused  for  not 
throwing  about  his  guineas." 

"  I  wish  you'd  throw  about  a  few  for  our  entertainment,"  said 
Charlton  who  was  close  behind.  "  I  haven't  seen  a  yellow-boy  in 
a  good  while." 

"A  proof  that  your  eyes  are  not  jaundiced,"  said  his  friend 
without  turning  his  head,  "  whatever  may  be  the  case  with  you 
otherwise.  Is  he  out  of  humor  with  the  country  life  you  like  so 
well,  Miss  Ringgan,  or  has  he  left  his  domestic  tastes  in  Mexieo? 
How  do  you  think  he  likes  Queechy  ?  " 

"  You  might  as  well  ask  myself,"  said  Charlton. 

"  How  do  you  think  he  likes  Queechy,  Miss  Ringgan?" 

"  I  am  afraid,  something  after  the  fashion  of  Touchstone,"  said 
Fleda  laughing  ; — "he  thinks  that  '  in  respect  of  itself  it  is  a  good 
life  ;  but  in  respect  that  it  is  a  shepherd's  life  it  is  naught.  In  re 
spect  that  it  is  solitary,  he  likes  it  very  well  ;  but  in  respect  that  it 
is  private,  it  is  a  very  vile  life.  Now  in  respect  it  is  in  the  fields,  if 
pleaseth  him  well ;  but  in  respect  it  is  not  in  the  court,  it  is  tedi 
ous.'  " 

"There's  a  guinea,  for  you,  Capt.  Rossitur,"  said  his  friend 
"  Do  you  know  out  of  what  mint  ?  " 

"It  doesn't  bear  the  head  of  Socrates,"  said  Charlton. 

c" '  Hast  no  philosophy  in  thee,'  Charlton  ?"  said  Fleda  Jaughing 
back  at  him. 

"  Has  not  Queechy — a — the  honor  of  your  approbation,  Capt 
Rossitur  ?  "  said  the  doctor. 

"  Certainly  sir — I  have  no  doubt  of  its  being  a  very  fine  country.' 

"  Only  he  has  imbibed  some  doubts  whether  happiness  be  an  ii*> 
digenous  crop,"  said  Thorn. 

Undoubtedly,"  said  the  doctor  blandly, — "  to  one  who  has 
roamed  over  the  plains  of  Mexico,  Queechy  must  seem  rather — 9 
*— «.  rather  flat  place." 


284  QUEECHY. 

"If  he  could  lose  sight  of  the  hills,"  said  Thorn. 

"Undoubtedly,  sir,  undoubtedly,"  said  the  doctor  ;  "they  are* 
marked  feature  in  the  landscape,  and  do  much  to  relieve — a — the 
charge  of  sameness." 

"  Luckily,"  said  Mr.  Olmney  smiling,  "  happiness  is  not  a  thing 
of  circumstance  ;  it  depends  on  a  man's  self." 

"  I  used  to  think  so,"  said  Thorn  ; — "  that  is  what  I  have  always 
subscribed  to  ;  but  I  am  afraid  I  could  not  live  in  this  region  and 
find  it  so  long." 

"What  an  evening!"  said  Fleda.  "  Queechy  is  doing  its  best 
io  deserve  our  regards  under  this  light.  Mr.  Olmney,  did  you  ever 
notice  the  beautiful  curve  of  the  hills  in  that  hollow  where  the  sun 
sets  ? ' ' 

"  I  do  notice  it  now,"  he  said. 

"It  is  exquisite!"  said  the  doctor.  "  Capt.  Rossitur,  do  you 
observe,  sir? — in  that  hollow  where  the  sun  sets? — 

Capt.  Rossitur's  eye  made  a  very  speedy  transition  from  the  hills 
to  Fleda,  who  had  fallen  back  a  little  to  take  Hugh's  arm  and 
placing  herself  between  him  and  Mr.  Olmney  was  giving  her 
attention  undividedly  to  the  latter.  And  to  him  she  talked  perse- 
veringly,  of  the  mountains,  the  country,  and  the  people,  till  they 
reached  the  courtyard  gate.  Mr.  Olmney  then  passed  on.  So  did 
the  doctor,  though  invited  to  tarry,  averring  that  the  sun  had  gone 
down  behind  the  firmament  and  he  had  something  to  attend  to  at 
home. 

"  You  will  come  in,  Thorn,"  said  Charlton. 

"Why — I  had  intended  returning, — but  the  sun  has  gone  down 
indeed,  and  as  our  friend  says  there  is  no  chance  of  our  seeing  him 
again  I  may  as  well  go  in  and  take  what  comfort  is  to  be  had  in 
the  circumstances.  Gentle  Euphrosyne,  doth  it  not  become  the 
Graces  to  laugh?" 

"They  always  ask  leave,  sir,"  said  Fleda  hesitating. 

"  A  tnost  Grace-ful  answer,  though  it  does  not  smile  upon  me,'* 
said  Thorn. 

"  I  am  sorry,  sir,"  said  Fleda,  smiling  now,  "that  you  have  so 
many  silver  pennies  to  dispose  of  we  shall  never  get  at  the  gold." 

"  I  will  do  my  very  best,"  said  he. 

So  he  did,  and  made  himself  agreeable  that  evening  to  every 
one  of  the  circle  ;  though  Fleda's  sole  reason  for  liking  to  see  hinh 
come  in  had  been  that  she  was  glad  of  everything  that  served  t9 
keep  Charlton's  attention  from  home  subjects.  She  saw  sometimes 
the  threatening  of  a  cloud  that  troubled  her. 

But  the  Evelyns  and  thorn  and  everybody  else  whom  they  knew 
*eft  the  Pool  at  last,  before  Charlton,  who  was  sufficiently  well 
again,  had  near  run  out  his  furlough  ;  and  then  the  cloud  which 
had  only  showed  itself  by  turns  during  all  those  weeks  gathered 
and  settled  determinately  upon  his  brow. 

He  had  long  ago  supplied  the  want  of  a  newspaper.  One  even 
ing  in  September  the  family  were  sitting  in  the  room  where  they 
had  had  tea,  for  the  benefit  of  the  fire,  when  Barby  pushed  open 
the  kitchen  door  and  came  in. 

"Fleda  will  you  let  me  have  one  of  the  last  papers?  I've  a 
notion  to  look  at  it." 


qUEECHY.  '  981 

Fleda  rose  and  went  to  rummaging  in  the  cupboards. 

"  You  can  have  it  again  in  a  little  while,"  said  Barby  consider 
ately. 

The  paper  was  found  and  Miss  Elster  went  out  with  it. 

"What  an  unendurable  piece  of  ill-manners  that  woman  is!" 
said  Charlton. 

"She  has  no  idea  of  being  ill-mannered,  I  assure  you,"  said 
Fleda. 

His  voice  was  like  a  brewing  storm — hers  was  so  clear  and  soft 
that  it  made  a  lull  in  spite  of  him.  But  he  began  again. 

"  There  is  no  necessity  for  submitting  to  impertinence.     I  nev«i  \ 
would  do  it." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  never  will,"  said  his  father.  "  Unless  you 
can't  help  yourself." 

"  Is  there  any  good  reason,  sir,  why  you  should  not  have  proper 
servants  in  the  house  ?  " 

"  A  very  good  reason,"  said  Mr.  Rossitur.  "  Fleda  would  be  in 
despair." 

"  Is  there  noni  beside  that?  "  said  Charlton  dryly. 

"None — except  a  trifling  one,"  Mr.  Rossitur  answered  m  the 
same  tone. 

"  We  cannot  afford  it,  dear  Charlton,"  said  his  mother  softly. 

There  was  a  silence,  during  which  Fleda  moralized  on  the  ways 
pe«ple  take  to  make  themselves  uncomfortable. 

"  Does  that  man — to  whom  you  let  the  farm — does  he  do  ms 
duty?" 

"  I  am  not  the  keeper  of  his  conscience." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  would  be  a  small  charge  to  any  one,"  said 
Fleda. 

"But  are  you  the  keeper  of  the  gains  you  ought  to  have  from 
him  ?  does  he  deal  fairly  by  you  ?  " 

"  May  I  ask  first  what  interest  it  is  of  yours?  " 

"  It  is  my  interest,  sir,  because  I  come  home  and  find  the  family 
Hving  upon  the  exertions  of  Hugh  and  Fleda,  and  find  them  grow 
ing  thin  and  pale  under  it." 

"You,  at  least,  are  free  from  all  pains  of  the  kind,  Capt.  Rossi- 
3ur." 

"Don't  listen  to  him,  uncle  Rolf !"  said  Fleda  going  round  to 
her  uncle,  and  making  as  she  passed  a  most  warning  impression 
upon  Charlton's  arm, — "don't  mind  what  he  says— that  young 
gentleman  has  been  among  the  Mexican  ladies  till  he  has  lost  an 
eye  for  a  really  proper  complexion.  Look  at  me  ! — do  I  look  pale 
and  thin  ? — I  was  paid  a  most  brilliant  compliment  the  other  day 
upon  my  roses — Uncle,  don't  listen  to  him  ! — he  hasn't  been  in  a 
decent  humor  since  the  Evelyns  went  away." 

She  knelt  down  before  him  and  laid  her  hands  upon  his  and 
looked  up  in  his  face  to  bring  all  her  plea  ;  the  plea  of  most  win 
ning  sweetness  of  entreaty  in  features  yet  flushed  and  trembling. 
His  own  did  not  unbend  as  he  gazed  at  her,  but  he  gave  her  a 
silent  answer  in  a  pressure  of  the  hands  that  went  straight  from 
his  heart  to  hers.  Fleda' s  eye  turned  to  Charlton  appealingly. 

"Is  it  necessary,"  he  repeated,  "that  that  child  and  this  boy 
should  spend  their  days  in  laoor  to  keep  the  family  alive  r" 


236 

"If  it  were,"  replied  Mr.  Rossitur,  "  I  am  very  willing  that  then 
exertions  should  cease.  For  my  own  part  I  would  quite  as  lie!  be 
out  of  the  world  as  in  it." 

"  Charlton  ! — how  can  you! — "  said  Fleda,  half  beside  herself, 
— "you  should  know  of  what  you  speak  or  be  silent! — Uncle 
don't  mind  him!  he  is  talking  wildly — my  work  does  me, good." 

"  You  do  not  understand  yourself,"  said  Charlton  obstinately  ;— 
"  it  is  more  than  you  ought  to  do,  and  I  know  my  mother  thinks 
.»o  too." 

"  Well !  "  said  Mr.  Rossitur, — "  it  seems  there  is  an  agreement 
n  my  own  family  to  bring  me  to  the  bar — get  up  Fleda, — let  us 
hear  all  the  charges  to  be  brought  against  me,  at  once,  and  then 
pass  sentence.  What  have  your  mother  and  you  agreed  upon., 
Charlton  ? — go  on  !  " 

Mrs.  Rossitur,  now  beyond  speech,  left  the  room,  weeping  even 
aloud.  Hugh  followed  her.  Fleda  wrestled  with  her  agitation  for 
a  minute  or  two,  and  then  got  up  and  put  both  arms  round  her 
uncle's  neck. 

"  Don't  talk  so,  dear  uncle  Rolf! — you  make  us  very  unhappy 
— aunt  Lucy  did  not  mean,  any  such  thing — it  is  only  Charlton's 
nonsense.  Do  go  and  tell  her  you  don't  think  so, — you  have 
broken  her  heart  by  what  you  said  ; — do  go,  uncle  Rolf ! — do  go 
and  make  her  happy  again  !  Forget  it  all ! — Charlton  did  not 
know  what  he  was  saying — won't  you  go,  dear  uncle  Rolf?. — " 

The  words  were  spoken  between  bursts  of  tears  that  ut~ 
terly  overcame  her,  though  they  did  not  hinder  the  utmost  caress- 
ingness  of  manner.  It  seemed  at  first  spent  upon  a  rock.  Mr. 
Rossitur  stood  like  a  man  that  did  not  care  what  happened  or  what 
became  of  him;  dumb  and  unrelenting  ;  suffering  her  sweet  words 
and  imploring  tears,  with  no  attempt  to  answer  the  one  or  stay  the 
other.  But  he  could  not  hold  against  her  beseeching.  He  was 
no  match  for  it.  He  returned  at  last  heartily  the  pressure  of  her 
arms,  and  unable  to  give  her  any  other  answer  kissed  her  two  or 
three  times,  such  kisses  as  are  charged  with  the  heart's  whole  mes 
sage;  and  disengaging  himself  left  the  room. 

For  a  minute  after  he  was  gone  Fleda  cried  excessively  ;  and 
Charlton,  now  alone  with  her,  felt  as  if  he  had  not  a  particle  of 
self-respect  left  to  stand  upon.  One  such  agony  would  do  her 
.nore  harm  than  whole  weeks  of  labor  and  weariness.  He  was 
ioo  vexed  and  ashamed  of  himself  to  be  able  to  utter  a  word, 
but  when  she  recovered  a  little  and  was  leaving  the  room  he 
stood  still  by  the  door  in  an  attitude  that  seemed  to  ask  her  to 
speak  a  word  to  him. 

"  I  am  sure,  Charlton,"  she  said  gently,  "  you  will  be  sorry  to 
morrow  for  what  you  have  done." 

"  I  am  sorry  now,"  he  said.  But  she  passed  out  without  saying 
anything  more. 

Capt.  Rossitur  passed  the  night  in  unmitigated  vexation  with 
himself.  But  his  repentance  could  not  have  been  very  genuine, 
since  his  most  painful  thought  was,  that  Fleda  must  think  of  him  ! 

He  was  somewhat  reassured  at  breakfast  to  find  no  traces  of  the 
evening's  storm ;  indeed  the  moral  atmosphere  seeired  rathe* 
clearer  and  purer  than  cofrnnon.  His  own  face  was  the  only  on« 


QUEECHX,  *37 

had  an  unusual  shade  upon  it.  There  was  no  difference  IM  apy< 
body's  manner  toward  himself  ;  and  there  was  even  a  particular!)' 
gentle  and  kind  pleasantness  about  Fleda,  intended,  he  kww,  t* 
sooth  and  put  to  rest  any  movings  of  self-reproach  he  migla  feel 
It  somehow  missed  of  its  aim  and  made  him  feel  worse  ;  an%/  aftel 
on  his  part  a  very  silent  meal  he  quitted  the  house  and  tooV  him- 
self  and  his  discontent  to  the  woods. 

Whatever  effect  they  had  upon  him,  it  was  the  middle  wf  thtf 
morning  before  he  came  back  again.  He  found  Fleda  alone  ic 
the  breakfast-room,  sewing  ;  and  for  the  first  time  noticed  tlw  look 
his  mother  had  spoken  of;  a  look  not  of  sadness,  but  rather  of  set 
tled  patient  gravity  ;  the  more  painful  to  see  because  it  couU  only 
have  been  wrought  by  long- acting  causes,  and  might  be  as  slow  to 
do  away  as  it  must  have  been  to  bring.  Charl  ton's  displeasure 
with  the  existing  state  of  things  had  revived  as  his  remorse  died 
away,  and  that  quiet  face  did  have  a  quieting  effect  upon  him. 

"  What  on  earth  is  going  on  !  "  he  began  rather  abruptly  as  soon 
as  he  entered  the  room;  "  What  horrible  cookery  is  on  foot?  " 

"  I  venture  to  recommend  that  you  do  not  inquire,"  said  Fleda. 
"  It  was  set  on  foot  in  the  kitchen  and  it  has  walked  in  here.  If 
you  open  the  window  it  will  walk  out. 

"  But  you  will  be  cold?  " 

•'  Never  mind — in  that  case  I  will  walk  out  too,  into  the  kitchen." 

"  Into  the  thick  of  it !  No— I  will  try  some  other  way  of  relief. 
This  is  unendurable  !  " 

Fleda  looked,  but  made  no  other  remonstrance,  and  not  heed 
ing  the  look  Mr.  Charlton  walked  out  into  the  kitchen,  shutting 
the  door  behind  him. 

"  Barby,"  said  he,  "  you  have  got  something  cooking  here  that 
is  very  disagreeable  in  the  other  room." 

"Is  it?  "  said  Barby.  "  I  reckoned  it  would  all  fly  up  chimney. 
I  guess  the  draught  ain't  so  strong  as  I  thought  it  was." 

"  But  I  tell  you  it  fills  the  house  !  " 

"  Well,  it'll  have  to  a  spell  yet,"  said  Barby,  "  'cause  if  it  didn't 
you  see,  Capt.  Rossitur,  there  d  be  nothing  to  fill  Fleda's  chickens 
with." 

"  Chickens  ! — where's  all  the  corn  in  the  land  ?" 

"It's  some  place  besides  in  our  barn,"  said  Barby.  "  All  last 
year's  is  out,  and  Mr.  Didenhover  ha' n't  fetched  any  of  this  year's 
home  ;  so  I  made  a  bargain  with  'em  they  shouldn't  starve  as  long 
as  they'd  eat  boiled  pursley." 

"  What  do  you  give  them  ?  " 

"  'Most  everything — they  ain't  particler  now-a-days — chunks  o* 
cabbage^  and  scarcity  and  pun' kin  and  that— all  the  sass  that  ain't 
wanted." 

"  And  do  they  eat  that?" 

"Eat  it!"  said  Barby.  "They  don't  know  how  to  thank  me 
for't!  " 

"  But  it  ought  to  be  done  out  of  doors,'*  said  Charlton,  coming 
back  from  a  kind  of  maze  in  which  he  had  been  listening  to  her. 
"  It  is  unendurable  !  " 

"Then  I  guess  you'll  have  to  go  some  place  where  you  won't 


<88  QUEEVHY. 

know  it,"  said  Barby  ; — "  that's  the  most  likely  plan  I  can  hit 
upon  ;  for  it'll  have  to  stay  on  till  it's  ready." 

Charlton  went  back  into  the  other  room  really  down-hearted, 
and  stood  watching  the  play  of  Fleda's  ringers. 

"  Is  it  come  to  this!  "  he  said  at  length.  "  Is  it  possible  that 
you  are  obliged  to  go  without  such  a  trifle  as  the  miserable  supply 
of  food  your  fowls  want!  " 

"ThaTs  a  small  matter!"  said  Fleda,  speaking  lightly  though 
she  smothered  a  sigh.  "  We  have  been  obliged  to  do  without  more 
than  that." 

"  What  is  the  reason  ?  " 

"Why  this  man  Didenhover  is  a  rogue  I  suspect,  and  he  man 
ages  to  spirit  away  all  the  profits  that  should  come  to  uncle  Rolfs 
hands — I  don't  know  how.  We  have  lived  almost  entirely  upon  the 
mill  for  some  time." 

"And  has  my  father  been  doing  nothing  all  this  while?" 

"  Nothing  on  the  farm." 

"  And  what  of  anything  else  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Fleda,  speaking  with  evident  unwilling 
ness.  "  But  surely,  Charlton,  he  knows  his  own  business  best.  It 
is  not  our  affair." 

"  He  is  mad  !  "  said  Charlton,  violently  striding  up  and  down  the 
floor. 

"No,"  said  Fleda  with  equal  gentleness  and  sadness, — "he  is 
only  unhappy  ; — I  understand  it  all — he  has  had  no  spirit  to  take 
hold  of  anything  ever  since  we  came  here." 

"  Spirit!  "  said  Charlton  ; — "  he  ought  to  have  worked  off  his 
fingers  to  their  joints  before  he  let  you  do  as  you  have  been  doing  !  " 

"  Don't  say  so  !  "  said  Fleda,  looking  even  pale  in  her  eagerness 
— "  don't  think  so  Charlton !  it  isn't  right.  We  cannot  tell  what  he 
may  have  had  to  trouble  him — I  know  he  has  suffered  and  does  suffer 
a  great  deal. — Do  not  speak  again  about  anything  as  you  did  last 
night! — Oh,"  said  Fleda,  now  shedding  bitter  tears, — "  this  is  the 
worst  of  growing  poor!  the  difficulty  of  keeping  up  the  old  kind 
ness  and  sympathy  and  care  for  each  other  ! — " 

"  I  am  sure  it  does  not  work  so  upon  you,"  said  Charlton  in  an 
altered  voice. 

"Promise  me,  dear  Charlton,"  said  Fleda  looking  up  affer  a 
moment  and  drying  her  eyes  again,  "promise  me  you  will  not 
say  any  more  about  these  things!  I  am  sure  it  pains  uncle 
Rolf  more  than  you  think.  Say  you  will  not, — for  your  mother's 
sake!" 

"  I  will  not,  Fleda — for  your  sake.  I  would  not  give  you  any 
more  trouble  to  bear.  Promise  me  ;  that  you  will  be  more  careful 
of  yourself  in  future." 

"  O  there  is  no  danger  about  me,"  said  Fleda  with  a  faint  smile 
and  taking  up  her  work  again. 

"Who  are  you  making  shirts  for?"  said  Charlton  after  a 
ioause. 

"  Hugh." 

"  You  do  everything  for  Hugh,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Little  enough.     Not  half  so  much  as  he  does  for  me." 

"  Is  he  up  at  the  mill  to-day  ?  ' ' 


QUEECHY.  939 

•w  He  is  always  there,"  said  Fleda  sighing. 

There  was  another  silence. 

"  Charlton,"  said  Fleda  looking  up  with  a  face  of  the  loveliest 
insinuation, — "  isn't  there  something  you  might  do  to  help  us  a 
little?" 

"  I  will  help  you  garden,  Fleda,  with  pleasure." 

"  I  would  rather  you  should  help  somebody  else,"  said  she,  still 
looking  at  him. 

"  What,  Hugh  ? — You  would  have  me  go  and  work  at  the  milV 
for  him,  I  suppose  !  " 

"  Don't  be  angry  with  me.  Charlton,  for  suggesting  it,"  said 
Fleda  looking  down  again. 

"Angry  !  " — said  he.  "  But  is  that  what  you  would  have  me 
do?" 

"  Not  unless  you  like, — I  didn't  know  but  you  might  take  his 
place  once  in  a  while  for  a  little,  to  give  him  a  rest, — " 

"And  suppose  some  of  the  people  from  Montepoole  that  know 
me  should  come  by?  What  are  you  thinking  of?"  said  he  in  a 
tone  that  certainly  justified  Fleda' s  deprecation. 

"  Well !  "—said  Fleda  in  a  kind  of  choked  voice,—"  there  is  a 
strange  rule  of  honor  in  vogue  in  the  world  !  " 

"  Why  should  I  help  Hugh  rather  than  anybody  else  ?  " 

"He  is  killing  himself! — "  said  Fleda,  letting  her  work  fall 
and  hardly  speaking  the  words  through  thick  tears.  Her  head 
was  down  and  they  came  fast.  Charlton  stood  abashed  for  a 
minute. 

"You  sha'n't  do  so,  Fleda,"  said  he  gently,  endeavoring  to 
raise  her, — "  you  have  tired  yourself  with  this  miserable  work  !-- 
Come  to  the  window — you  have  got  low-spirited,  but  I  am  sure  with 
out  reason  about  Hugh — but  you  shall  set  me  about  what  you  will — 
You  are  right,  I  dare  say,  and  I  am  wrong  ;  but  don't  make  me 
think  myself  a  brute,  and  I  will  do  anything  you  please." 

He  had  raised  her  up  and  made  her  lean  upon  him.  Fleda  wiped 
her  eyes  and  tried  to  smile. 

"  I  will  do  anything  that  will  please  you,  Fleda." 

11  It  is  not  to  please  me, — "  she  answered  meekly. 

}i  I  would  not  have  spoken  a  word  last  night  if  I  had  known  it 
would  have  grieved  you  so." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  should  have  none  but  so  poor  a  reason  for  doing 
fight,"  said  Fleda  gently. 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  think  you  are  about  as  good  reason  as  any- 
tx>dy  need  have,"  said  Charlton. 

She  put  her  hand  upon  his  arm  and  looked  up, — such  a  look  of 
pure  rebuke  as  carried  to  his  mind  the  full  force  of  the  words  she 
did  not  speak, — '  Who  art  thou  that  carest  for  a  worm  which  shall 
die,  and  forgettest  the  Lord  thy  Maker ! ' — Charlton's  eyes  fell. 
Fleda  turned  gently  away  and  began  to  mend  the  fire.  He  stood 
watching  her  for  a  little. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  me,  Fleda  ?  "  he  said  at  length. 

"  A  little  wrong-headed,"  answered  Fleda,  giving  him  a  glance 
and  a  smile.  "  I  don't  think  you  are  very  bad.  ' 

"  If  you  will  go  with  me,  Fleda,  you  shall  mak*  what  you  please 
*  me  I" 


SJ40  QUEECHY. 

He  spoke  half  in  jest,  half  in  earnest,  and  did  not  himself  knovf 
at  the  moment  which  way  he  wished  Fleda  to  take  it.  But  she  had 
no  notion  of  any  depth  in  his  words. 

"  A  hopeless  task  !  "  she  answered  lightly,  shaking  her  head,  as 
she  got  down  on  her  knees  to  blow  the  fire  ; — "  I  am  afraid  it  is  too 
much  for  me.  I  have  been  trying  to  mend  you  ever  since  you 
came,  and  I  cannot  see  the  slightest  change  for  the  better !  " 

"  Where  is  the  bellows?  "  said  Charlton  in  another  tone. 

"  It  has  expired — its  last  breath,"  said  Fleda.  "  In  other  words 
it  has  lost  its  nose." 

"Well,  look  here,"  said  he  laughing  and  pulling  her  away,  - 
"  you  will  stand  a  fair  chance  of  losing  your  face  if  you  put  it  ir 
the  fire.     You  sha'n't  do  it.     Come  and  show  me  where  to  find  the 
scattered  parts  of  that  old  wind  instrument  and  I  will  see  if  it  can< 
not  be  persuaded  to  play  again." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

I  dinna  ken  what  I  should  want 
If  I  could  get  but  a  man. 

SCOTCH  BALLAD. 

CAPT.  ROSSITUR  did  no  work  at  the  saw-mill.  But  Fleda's 
words  had  not  fallen  to  the  ground.  He  began  to  show  care  for  his 
fellow-creatures  in  getting  the  bellows  mended  ;  his  next  step  was 
to  look  to  his  gun  ;  and  from  that  time  so  long  as  he  staid  the  table 
was  plentifully  supplied  with  all  kinds  of  game  the  season  and  the 
qountry  could  furnish.  Wild  ducks  and  partridges  banished  pork 
and  bacon  even  from  memory  ;  and  Fleda  joyfully  declared  she 
would  not  see  another  omelette  again  till  she  was  in  distress. 

While  Charlton  was  still  at  home  came  a  very  urgent  invitation 
from  Mrs.  Evelyn  that  Fleda  should  pay  them  a  long  visit  in  New 
York,  bidding  her  care  for  no  want  of  preparation  but  come  and 
make  it  there.  Fleda  demurred  however  on  that  very  score.  But 
before  her  answer  was  written,  another  missive  came  from  Dr. 
Gregory,  not  asking  so  much  as  demanding  her  presence,  and  en 
closing  a  fifty  dollar  bill,  for  which  he  said  he  would  hold  her  re° 
sponsible  till  she  had  paid  him  with, — not  her  own  hands, — but  her 
own  lips.  There  was  no  withstanding  the  manner  of  this  entreaty*, 
Fleda  packed  up  some  of  Mrs.  Rossitur's  laid-by  silks,  to  be  re 
freshed  with  an  air  of  fashion,  and  set  off  with  Charlton  at  the  end 
of  his  furlough. 

To  her  simple  spirit  of  enjoyment  the  weeks  ran  fast;  and  al". 
manner  of  novelties  and  kindnesses  helped  them  on.  It  was  a 
time  of  cloudless  pleasure.  But  those  she  had  left  thought  it  long. 
She  wrote  them  how  delightfully  she  kept  house  for  the  old  doctor, 
whose  wife  had  long  been  dead,  and  how  joyously  she  and  the 
Evelyns  made  time  fly.  And  every  pleasure  she  felt  awoke  almost 
as  strong  a  throb  in  the  hearts  at  home.  But  they  missed  her  as 
Barby  said,  "dreadfully;"  and  she  was  most  dearly  welcomed 
when  she  came  back.  It  was  just  before  New  Year. 

For  half  an  hour  there  was  most  gladsome  use  of  eyes  and 
tongues.  Fleda  had  a  great  deal  to  tell  them. 


241 

•'  How  well — how  weil  you  are  looking,  dear  Fleda  !  "  said  hei 
aunt  for  the  third  or  fourth  time. 

"That's  more  than  1  can  say  for  you  and  Hugh,  aunt  Lucy. 
IVhat  have  you  been  doing  to  yourselves?  " 

"Nothing  new,"  they  said,  as  her  eye  went  from  one  to  the 
other. 

"  I  guess  you  have  wanted  me  !  "  said  Fleda,  shaking  her  head 
as  she  kissed  them  both  again. 

"  I  guess  we  have,"  said  Hugh,  "  but  don't  fancy  we  have  grows 
shin  upon  the  want." 

"  But  where' s  uncle  Roll  ?  you  didn't  tell  me." 

61  He  is  gone  to  look  after  those  lands  in  Michigan." 

"  In  Michigan  ! — When  did  he  go?  " 

"  Very  soon  after  you." 

"  And  you  didn't  let  me  know  ! — O  why  didn't  you  ?  How  lonely 
you  must  have  been." 

"Let  you  know  indeed!  "  said  Mrs.^Rossitur,  wrapping  her  in 
her  arms  again  ; — "  Hugh  and  I  counted  every  week  that  you 
staid  with  more  and  pleasure  each  one." 

"  I  understand  !  "  said  Fleda  laughing  under  her  aunt's  kisses. 
1  Well  I  am  glad  I  am  at  home  again  to  take  care  of  you.  I 
see  you  can't  get  along  without  me  !  " 

"  People  have  been  very  kind,  Fleda,"  said  Hugh. 

"  Have  they  ?" 

« •  Yes — thinking  we  were  desolate  I  suppose.  There  has  been  no 
end  to  aunt  Miriam's  goodness  and  pleasantness." 

"  O  aunt  Miriam,  always  !  "  said  Fleda.     "  And  Seth." 

"Catherine  Douglass  has  been  up  twice  to  ask  if  her  mother 
could  do  anything  for  us  ;  and  Mrs.  Douglass  sent  us  once  a  rab 
bit  and  once  a  quantity  of  wild  pigeans  that  Earl  had  shot.  Mother 
and  I  lived  upon  pigeons  for  I  don't  know  how  long.  Barby  wouldn't 
eat  'em — she  said  she  liked  pork  better  ;  but  I  believe  she  did  it  on 
purpose." 

"  Like  enough,"  said  Fleda  smiling,  from  her  aunt's  arms  where 
she  still  lay. 

"  And  Seth  has  sent  you  plenty  .of  your  favorite  hickory  nuts, 
very  fine  ones  ;  and  I  gathered  butternuts  enough  for  you  near 
home.' 

"Everything  is  for  me,"  said  Fleda.  "Well,  the  first  thing  I 
do  shall  be  to  make  some  butternut  candy  for  you.  You  won't 
despise  that,  Mr.  Hugh  ?  " 

Hugh  smiled  at  her,  and  went  on. 

"  And  your  friend  Mr.  Olmney  has  sent  us  a  corn-basket  fuL 
of  the  superbest  apples  you  ever  saw.  He  has  one  tree  of  the 
finest  in  Queechy,  he  says." 

"  My  friend  !  "  said  Fleda,  coloring  a  little. 

"Well  I  don't  know  whose  he  is  if  he  isn't  yours,"  said  Hugh. 
j£  And  even  the  Finns  sent  us  some  fish  that  their  brother  had 
caught,  because,  they  said,  they  had  more  than  they  wanted.  And 
Dr.  Quackenboss  sent  us  a  goose  and  a  turkey.  We  didn't  like 
to  keep  them,  but  we  were  afraid  if  we  sent  them  bauic  iC  wcmld  not 
be  understood." 
16 


S42 

•r  Send  them  back!  "  said  Fleda.  "  That  would  never  do;  All 
Queechy  would  have  rung  with  it." 

"  Well  we  didn't,"  said  Hugh.  "  But  so  we  sent  one  of  them 
to  Barby's  old  mother  for  Christmas." 

"  Poor  Dr.  Quackenboss  !  "  said  Fleda.  "  That  man  has  as  near 
as  possible  killed  me  two  or  three  times.  As  for  the  others,  they  are 
certainly  the  oddest  of  all  the  finny  tribes.  I  must  go  out  and  see 
Barby  for  a  minute." 

It  was  a  good  many  minutes,  however,  before  she  could  get  free 
to  do  any  such  thing. 

"You  ha'n't  lost  no  flesh,"  said  Barby  shaking  hands  with  hei 
anew.  "  What  did  they  think  of  Queechy  keep,  down  in  York?  " 

"  I  don't  know — I  didn't  ask  them,"  said  Fleda.  "  How  goes  the 
world  with  you,  Barby?" 

"  I'm  mighty  glad  you  are  come  home,  Fleda,"  said  Barby  low 
ering  her  voice. 

"  Why  ?  ' '  said  Fleda  in  a  like  tone. 

"  I  guess  I  ain't  all  that's  glad  of  it,"  Miss  Elster  went  on,  with  a 
glance  of  her  bright  eye. 

"  I  guess  not,"  said  Fleda  reddening  a  little  ; — "  buv  what  is  the 
matter  ? ' ' 

"  There's  two  of  our  friends  ha'n't  made  us  but  one  visit  a  piece 
since — oh,  ever  since  some  time  in  October  !  " 

"  Well  never  mind  the  people,"  said  Fleda.  "  Tell  me  what  you 
were  going  to  say." 

"And  Mr.  Olmney,"  said  Barby  not  minding  her,  "he's  took 
and  sent  us  a  great  basket  chock  full  of  apples.  Now  wa'n't  that 
smart  of  him,  when  he  knowed  there  wa'n't  no  one  here  that  cared 
about  'em?  " 

"They  are  a  particularly  fine  kind,"  said  Fleda. 

"  Did  you  hear  about  the  goose  and  turkey  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Fleda  laughing. 

"The  doctor  thinks  he  has  done  the  thing  just  about  right  this 
time,  I  s'pect.  He  had  ought  to  take  out  a  patent  right  for  his 
invention.  He'd  feel  spry  if  he  knowed  who  eat  one  on  'em." 

"  Never  mind  tht  doctor,  Barby.  Was  this  what  you  wanted  to 
»ee  me  for?" 

"No,"  said  Barby  changing  her  tone.  "I'd  give  something  it 
was.  I've  been  all  but  at  my  wit's  end  ;  for  you  know  Mis'  Ros- 
situr  ain't  no  hand  about  anything — I  couldn't  say  a  word  to  her — 
and  ever  since  he  went  away  we  have  been  just  winding  ourselves 
up.  I  thought  I  should  clear  out,  when  Mi*'  Rossitur  said  maybe 
you  wa'n't  a  coming  till  next  week." 

"  But  what  is  it  Barby  ?  what  is  wrong  ?  " 

•«  There  ha'n't  been  anything  right,  to  my  notions,  for  a  long 
spell,"  said  Barby,  wringing  out  her  dishcloth  hard  and  flinging  it 
down  to  give  herself  uninterruptedly  to  talk  ; — "but  now  you  see, 
Didenhover  nor  none  of  the  men  never  comes  near  the  house  to  do 
a  chore  ;  and  there  aia't  wood  to  last  three  days  ;  and  Hugh  ain't 
fit  to  cut  it  if  it  was  piled  up  in  the  yard  ;  and  there  ain't  the  first 
stick  of  it  out  of  the  woods  yet." 

Fleda  sat  down  and  looked  very  thoughtfully  into  the  fire. 


QUEECSr.  243 

••  He  had  eught  to  ha*  seen  to  it  afore  he  went  away,  but  he 
ha'n't  done  it,  and  there  it  is." 

•«  Why  who  takes  care  of  the  cows  ?  "  said  Fleda. 

"O  never  mind  the  cows,"  said  Barby  ; — "they  ain't  suffering ; 
I  wish  we  was  as  well  off  as  they  be  ; — but  I  guess  when  he  went 
away  he  made  a  hole  in  our  pockets  for  to  mend  his'n.  I  don't  say 
.ie  hadn't  ought  to  ha'  done  it,  but  we've  been  pretty  short  ever  st~ 
Fleda — we're  in  the  last  bushel  of  flour,  and  there  ain't  but  a 
handful  of  corn  meal,  and  mighty  little  sugar,  white  or  brown. — I 
did  say  something  to  Mis'  Rossitur,  but  all  the  good  it  did  was  to 
spile  her  appetite,  I  s'pose  ;  and  if  there's  grain  in  the  floor  there 
ain't  nobody  to  carry  it  to  mill, — nor  to  thresh  it, — nor  a  team  to 
draw  it,  fur's  I  know." 

"Hugh  cannot  cut  wood!"  said  Fleda; — "nor  drive  to  mill 
either,  in  this  weathei." 

"  I  could  go  to  mill,"  said  Barby,  "  now  you're  to  hum,  but  that's 
only  the  beginning  ;  and  it's  no  use  to  try  to  do  everything — flesh 
and  blood  must  stop  somewhere. — " 

"  No  indeed!  "  said  Fleda.  "  We  must  have  somebody  imme 
diately." 

"That's  what  I  had  fixed  upon,"  said  Barby.  "If  you  could 
get  hold  o'  some  young  feller  that  wa'n't  sot  up  with  an  idee  that  he 
was  a  grown  man  and  too  big  to  be  told,  I'd  just  clap  to  and  fix  that 
little  room  up-stairs  for  him  and  give  him  his  victuals  here,  and  we'd 
have  some  good  of  him  ;  instead  o'  having  him  streakin'  off  just  at 
the  minute  when  he'd  ought  to  be  along." 

"  Who  is  there  we  could  get,  Barby  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Barby  ;  "  but  they  say  there  is  never  a  nick 
that  there  ain't  a  jog  some  place  ;  so  I  guess  it  can  be  made  out.  I 
asked  Mis'  Plumfield,  but  she  didn't  know  anybody  that  was  out  of 
work  ;  nor  Seth  Plumfield.  I'll  tell  you  who  does, — that  is,  if  there 
w  anybody, — Mis'  Douglass.  She  keeps  hold  of  one  end  of  'most 
everybody's  affairs,  I  tell  her.  Anyhow  she's  a  good  hand  to  go 
to." 

"  I'll  go  there  at  once,"  said  Fleda.  "  Do  you  know  anything 
about  making  maple  sugar,  Barby?" 

"That's  the  very  thing!"  exclaimed  Barby  ecstatically. 
"There's  lots  o'  sugar  maples  on  the  farm  and  it's  murder  to  Jet 
them  go  to  loss  ;  and  they  ha'n't  done  us  a  speck  o'  good  ever  since 
*  come  here.  And  in  your  grandfather's  time  they  used  to  make 
barrels  and  barrels.  You  and  me  and  Hugh,  and  somebody  else 
we'll  have,  we  could  clap  to  and  make  as  much  sugar  and  molasses 
in  a  week  as  would  last  us  till  spring  come  round  again.  There's 
no  sense  into  it!  All  we'd  want  would  be  to  borrow  a  team  some 
place.  I  had  all  that  in  my  head  long  ago.  If  we  could  see  the 
last  of  that  man  Didenhover  oncet,  I'd  take  hold  of  the  plough  my 
self  and  see  if  I  couldn't  make  a  living  out  of  it !  I  don't  believe 
the  world  would  go  now,  Fleda,  if  it  wa'n't  for  women.  I  never 
see  three  men  vet  that  didn't  try  me  more  than  they  were  worth." 

"Patience,  Barby  !  "  said  Fleda  smiling.  "Let  us  take  things 
quietly." 

"  Well  I  declare  I'm  beat,  to  see  how  you  take  'em,"  said  Barby, 
looking  at  her  lovingly. 


$44  QUEECHF. 

"  Don't  you  know  why,  Barby  ?  '* 

"  I  s'pose  I  do,"  said  Barby  her  face  softening  still  mu.^, — -'©ft 
can  guess." 

"  Because  I  know  that  all  these  troublesome  things  will  be 
managed  in  the  best  way  and  by  my  best  friend,  and  I  know  that 
he  will  let  none  of  them  hurt  me.  I  am  sure  of  it — Isn't  that 
enough  to  keep  me  quiet?" 

Fleda's  eyes  were  filling  and  Barby  looked  away  from  them. 

"  Well  it  beats  me,"    she  said  taking  up  her  dishcloth   again£ 

why  you  should  have  anything  to  trouble  you.  I  can  understand 
/icked  folks  being  plagued,  but  I  can't  see  the  sense  of  the  good 
jnes." 

"Troubles  are  to  make  good  people  better,  Barby." 

"  Well,"  said  Barby  with  a  very  odd  mixture  of  real  feeling  and 
seeming  want  of  it, — "it's  a'wonder  I  never  got  religion,  for  I  will 
say  that  all  the  decent  people  I  ever  see  were  of  that  kind  !~Mis' 
Rossitur  ain't  though,  is  she  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Fleda,  a  pang  crossing  her  at  the  thought  that  all 
her  aunt's  loveliness  must  tell  directly  and  heavily  in  this  case  to 
lighten  religion's  testimony.  It  was  that  thought  and  no  other  which 
saddened  her  brow  as  she  went  back  into  the  other  room. 

"Troubles  already!  "  said  Mrs.  Rossitur.  "You  will  be  sorry 
you  have  come  back  to  them,  dear." 

"No  indeed!  "  said  Fleda  brightly  ;  "  I  am  very  glad  I  hav< 
come  home.  We  will  try  and  manage  the  troubles,  aunt  Lucy." 

There  was  no  doing  anything  that  day,  but  the  very  next  after 
noon  Fleda  and  Hugh  walked  down  through  the  snow  to  Mrs 
Douglass's.  It  was  a  long  walk  and  a  cold  one,  and  the  snow  was 
heavy  ;  but  the  pleasure  of  being  together  made  up  for  it  all.  It 
was  a  bright  walk  too,  in  spite  of  everything. 

In  a  most  thrifty-looking  well-painted  farm-house  lived  Mrs. 
Douglass. 

"  Why  'tain't  you,  is  it?"  she  said  when  she  opened  the  door, — 
"  Catharine  said  it  was,  and  I  said  I  guessed  it  wa'n't,  for  I  reckoned 
you  had  made  up  your  mind  not  to  come  and  see  me  at  all. — How 
do  you  do  ?  " 

The  last  sentence  in  the  tone  of  hearty  and  earnest  hospitality^ 
Fleda  made  her  excuses. 

"  Ay,  ay,— I  can  understand  all  that  just  as  well  as  if  you  said  i^ 
[  know  how  much  it  means  too.  Take  off  your  hat." 

Fleda  said  she  could  not  stay,  and  explained  her  business. 

"So  you  ha'n't  come  to  see  me  after  all.  Well  now  take  off 
your  hat,  'cause  I  won't  have  anything  to  say  to  you  till  you  do. 
I'll  give  you  supper  right  away." 

"But  I  have  left  my  aunt  alone,  Mrs.  Douglass; — and  the 
afternoons  are  so  short  now  it  would  be  dark  before  we  could  get 
home." 

"  Serve  her  right  for  not  coming  along  !  and  you  sha'n't  walk 
home  in  the  dark  for  Earl  will  harness  the  team  and  carry  you 
home  like  a  streak — the  horses  have  nothing  to  do — Come,  you 
sha'n't  go." 

And  as  Mrs.  Douglass  laid  violent  hands  on  her  bonnet  Fleda 
thought  best  to  submit.  She  was  presently  rewarded  with  ttof 


245 

promise  ot  the  very  person  she  wanted — a  boy,  or  young  man, 
then  in  Earl  Douglass's  employ  ;  but  his  wife  said  "  she  guessed 
he'd  give  him  up  to  her;"  and  what  his  wife  said,  Fleda  knew. 
Earl  Douglass  was  in  the  habit  of  making  good. 

"  There  ain't  enough  to  do  to  keep  him  busy,"  said  Mrs. 
Douglass.  "I  told  Earl  he  made  me  more  work  than  he  saved : 
but  he's  hung  on  till  now." 

44  What  sort  of  a  boy  is  he,  Mrs.  Douglass?" 

"  He  ain't  a  steel  trap,  I  tell  you  beforehand/  said  tha  lady, 
vith  one  of  her  sharp  intelligent  glances, — «•  he  don't  know  which 
way  to  go  till  you  show  him  ;  but  he's  a  clever  enough  kind  of  a 
chap — he  don't  mean  no  harm.  I  guess  he'll  do  for  what  you 
want." 

"  Is  he  to  be  trusted?" 

"Trust  him  with  anything  but  a  knife  and  fork,"  said  she,  with 
another  look  and  shake  of  the  head.  "  He  has  no  idea  but  what 
everything  on  the  supper-table  is  meant  to  be  eaten  straight  off. 
I  would  keep  two  such  men  as  my  husband  as  soon  as  I  would 
Philetus." 

"  Philetus  !  "  said  Fleda, — "  the  person  that  brought  the  chicken 
and  thought  he  had  brought  two  ?  " 

"You've  hit  it,"  said  Mrs.  Douglass.  "Now  you  know  him. 
How  do  you  like  our  new  minister  ?  " 

"  We  are  all  very  much  pleased  with  him." 

"  He's  very  good-looking,  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  A  very  pleas?,nt  face." 

"  I  ha' n't  seen  him  much  yet  except  in  church  ;  but  those  that 
know  say  he  is  very  agreeable  in  the  house." 

"Truly,  I  dare  say,"  answered  Fleda,  for  Mrs.  Douglass's  face 
looked  for  her  testimony. 

"  But  I  think  he  looks  as  if  he  was  beating  his  brains  out  there 
among  his  books — I  tell  him  he  is  getting  the  blues,  living  in  that 
big  house  by  himself." 

"  Do  you  manage  to  do  all  your  work  without  help,  Mrs.  Doug 
lass?"  said  Fleda,  knowing  that  the  question  was  "in  order" 
and  that  the  affirmative  answer  was  not  counted  a  thing  to  be 
ashamed  of. 

"  Well  I  guess  I'll  know  good  reason,"  said  Mrs.  Douglass  com 
placently,  "  before  I'll  have  any  help  to  spoil  my  work  Come 
along,  and  I'll  let  you  see  whether  I  want  one." 

Fleda  went,  very  willingly,  to  be  shown  all  Mrs.  Douglass's 
household  arrangements  and  clever  contrivances,  of  her  own  or  her 
husband's  devising,  for  lessening  or  facilitating  labor.  The  lady 
was  proud  and  had  some  reason  to  be,  of  the  very  superb  order  and 
neatness  of  each  part  and  detaiL  No  corner  or  closet  that  might 
not  be  laid  open  fearlessly  to  a  visitor' s'inspection.  Miss  Catharine 
was  then  directed  to  open  her  piano  and  amuse  Fleda  with  it  while 
her  mother  performed  her  promise  of  getting  an  early  supper  ;  a 
command  grateful  to  one  or  two  of  the  party,  for  Catharine  had 
been  carrying  on  all  this  while  a  most  stately  tete-a-tete  with  Hugh 
which  neither  had  any  wish  to  prolong.  So  Fleda  filled  up  the 
time  good-naturedly  with  thrumming  over  the  two  or  three  bits  of 
her  childish  music  that  she  could  recall,  till  Mr.  Douglass  came  in 


846  QUEECHT. 

and  they  were  summoned  to  sit  down  to  supper ;  which  Mr». 
Douglass  introduced  by  telling  her  guests  "  they  must  take  wjhat 
they  could  get,  for  she  had  made  fresh  bread  and  cake  and  pies 
for  them  two  or  three  times,  and  she  wa'n't  a  going  to  do  it 
again." 

Her  table  was  abundantly  spread  however,  and  with  most  ex 
quisite  neatness,  and  everything  was  of  excellent  quality,  saving 
only  certain  matters  which  call  for  a  free  hand  in  the  use  of  material, 
Fleda  thought  the  pumpkin  pies  must  have  been  made  from  thai 
vaunted  stock  which  is  said  to  want  no  eggs  nor  sugar,  and  th€ 
cakes  she  told  Mrs.  Rossitur  afterward  would  have  been  good  if 
half  the  flour  had  been  left  out  and  the  other  ingredients  doubled. 
The  deficiency  in  one  kind  however  was  made  up  by  superabund 
ance  in  another  ;  the  table  was  stocked  with  such  wealth  of  crockery 
that  one  could  not  imagine  any  poverty  in  what  was  to  go  upon  it. 
Fleda  hardly  knew  how  to  marshal  the  confusion  of  plates  which 
grouped  -themselves  around  her  cup  and  saucer,  and  none  of  them 
might  be^' dispensed  with.  There  was  one  set  of  little  glass  dishes 
for  one  kind  of  sweetmeats,  another  set  of  ditto  for  another  kind  ; 
an  army  of  tiny  plates  to  receive  and  shield  the  tablecloth  from 
the  dislodged  cups  of  tea,  saucers  being  the  conventional  dnnkijng 
vessels;  and  there  were  the  standard  bread  and  butt«r  plates, 
which  besides  their  proper  charge  of  bread  and  butter  *nd  beef 
.and  cheese,  were  expected,  Fleda  knew,  to  receive  a  portion  of 
every  kind  of  cake  that  might  happen  to  be  on  the  table.  It  was  a 
very  different  thing  however  from  Miss  Anastasia's  tea-table  or 
that  of  Miss  Flora  Quackenboss.  Fleda  enjoyed  the  whole  time 
without  difficulty. 

Mr.  Dougiass  readily  agreed  to  the  transfer  of  Philetus's  serv. 
ices. 

"He's  a  good  boy!"  said  Earl, — "he's  a  good  boy;  he's  as 
good  a  kind  of  a  boy  as  you  need  to  have.  He  wants  tellin'  ;  most 
boys  want  tellin'  ;  but  he'll  do  when  he  is  told,  and  he  means  to  do 
right." 

11  How  long  do  you  expect  your  uncle  will  be  gone  ?  "  said  Mn. 
Douglass. 

I  do  not  know,"  said  Fleda. 
Have  you  heard  from  him  since  he  left?" 
Not  since  I  came  home,"  said  Fleda.  "  Mr.  Douglass,  what  is  the 
t  thing  to  be  done  about  the  maple  trees  in  the  sugar  season  ?  " 
'  Why,  you  calculate  to  try  makin'  sugar  in  the  spring  ?  " 
Perhaps — at  any  rate  I  should  like  to  know  about  it." 
'Well  I  should  think   you  would,"    said  Earl,    ••  and  it's  easy 
done — there  ain't   nothin'  easier,   when  you  know  the  right  way  to 
set  to  work  about  it ;  and  there's  a  fine  lot  of  sugar  trees  on  the  old 
farm — I  recollect   of  them  sugar  trees  as  long  ago  as  when  I  was  a 
boy — I've  helped  to  work  them  afore  now,  but  there's  a  good  many 
years  since — has  made   me   a   leetle  older — but  the  first  thing  you 
want  is  a  man  and   a   team,  to  go  about  and  empty  the  buckets — 
ihe  buckets  must  be  emptied  every  day,  and  then  carry  it  down  to 
the  house." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Fleda.  ••  but  what  is  the  first  thing  to  bf 
done  to  the  trees?" 


"Why  la!  *fain'tmuch  to  do  to  the  trees — all  you've  got  to  do  is 
to  take  an  axe  and  chip  a  bit  out  and  stick  a  chip  a  leetle  way  into 
the  cut  for  to  clreen  the  sap,  and  set  a  trough  under,  and  then  go  on 
to  the  next  one,  and  so  on  ; — you  may  make  one  or  two  cuts  in  the 
south  side  of  the  tree,  and  one  or  two  cuts  in  the  north  side,  if  the 
tree's  big  enough,  and  if  it  ain't,  only  make  one  or  two  cuts  in  the 
south  side  of  the  tree,;  and  for  the  sap  to  run  good  it  had  ought  to 
be  that  kind  o'  weather  when  it  freezes  in  the  «ky  and  thaws  by 
night  ; — I  would  say  ! — when  it  friz  in  the  night  and  thaws  in  the 
day  ;  the  sap  runs  more  bountifully  in  that  kind  o*  weather." 

It  needed  little  from  Fleda  to  keep  Mr.  Douglass  at  the  maple 
Jrees  till  supper  was  ended  ;  and  then  as  it  was  already  sundown 
he  went  to  harness  the  sleigh. 

It  was  a  comfortable  one,  and  the  horses  if  not  very  handsome 
nor  bright-curried  were  well  fed  and  had  good  heart  to  their  work. 
A  two-mile  drive  was  before  them,  and  with  no  troublesome  tongues 
or  eyes  to  claim  her  attention  Fleda  enjoyed  it  fully.  In  the  soft 
clear  winter  twilight  when  heaven  and  earth  mingle  so  gently,  and 
the  stars  look  forth  brighter  and  cheerfuller  than  ever  at  another 
time,  they  slid  along  over  the  fine  roads,  too  swiftly,  toward  home  ; 
and  Fleda' s  thoughts  as  easily  and  swiftly  slipped  away  from  Mr. 
Douglass  and  maple  sugar  and  Philetus  and  an  unfilled  wood-yard 
and  an  empty  flour-barrel,  and  revelled  in  the  pure  ether.  A  dark 
rising  ground  covered  with  wood  sometimes  rose  between  her  and 
the  western  horizon  ;  and  then  a  long  stretch  of  snow,  only  less  pure, 
would  leave  free  view  of  its  unearthly  white  light,  dimmed  by  no 
exhalation,  a  gentle,  mute,  but  not  the  less  eloquent,  witness  to 
Earth  of  what  Heaven  must  be. 

3ut  the  sleigh  stopped  at  the  gate,  and  Fleda's  musings  came 
home. 

"  Good-night !  "  said  Earl,  in  reply  to  their  thanks  and  adieus  ; 
— "  'tain't  anything  to  thank  a  body  for — let  me  know  when  you're 
a  goin'  into  the  sugar  making  and  I'll  come  and  help  you." 

"  How  sweet  a  pleasant  message  may  make  an  unmusical 
tongue,"  said  Fleda,  as  she  and  Hugh  made  their  way  up  to  the 
house. 

"  We  had  a  stupid  enough  afternoon,"  said  Hugh. 

••  But  the  ride  home  was  worth  it  all !  " 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  in  good  green  wood, 

So  blithe  Lady  Alice  is  singing  ; 
On  the  beech's  pride,  and  the  oak's  brown  side, 
Lord  Richard's  axe  is  ringing. 

LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 

PHILETUS  came,  and  was  inducted  into  office  and  the  little  room 
immediately  ;  and  Fleda  felt  herself  eased  of  a  burthen.  Barby 
reported  him  stout  and  willing,  and  he  proved  it  by  what  seemed 
a  perverted  inclination  for  bearing  the  most  enormous  logs  of  wood 
be  could  find  into  the  kitchen. 

"  He  will  hurt  himself!  "  said  Fleda. 

«•  I'll  protect  him  ! — against  anything  but  buckwheat    batter," 


848  QUEECH* 

•aid  Barby  with  a  grave  shake  of  her  head.  "  Lazy  folks  take* 
the  most  pains,  I  tell  him.  But  it  would  be  good  to  have  some 
more  ground,  Fleda,  for  Philetus  says  he  don't  care  for  no  dinner 
when  he  has  griddles  to  breakfast,  and  there  ain't  anything  mxich 
cheaper  than  that." 

"  Aunt  Lucy,  have  you  any  change  in  the  house  ?  "  said  Fleda 
that  same  day. 

"There  isn't  but  three  and  sixpence,"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur  with  a 
pained  conscious  look.  "  What  is  wanting,  dear  ?  " 

"  Only  candles — Barby  has  suddenly  found  we  are  out,  and  she 
won't  have  any  more  made  before  to-morrow.  Never  mind  !  " 

"There  is  only  that,"  repeated  Mrs.  Rossitur.  "  Hugh  has  a 
little  money  due  to  him  from  last  summer,  but  he  hasn't  been  able 
to  get  it  yet.  You  may  take  that,  dear." 

"  No,"  said  Fleda,"  we  mustn't.     We  might  want  it  more." 

"  We  can  sit  in  the  dark  for  once,"  said  Hugh,  "  and  try  to  make 
an  uncommon  display  of  what  Dr.  Quackenboss  calls  •  sociality.'  " 

"  No,"  said  Fleda,  who  had  stood  busily  thinking, — "  I  am 
going  to  send  Philetus  dt>wn  to  the  post-office  for  the  paper  and 
when  it  comes  I  am  not  to  be  balked  of  reading  it — I've  made  up 
my  mind !  We'll  go  right  off  into  the  woods  and  get  some  pine 
knots,  Hugh — come  !  They  make  a  lovely  light.  You  get  us  a 
couple  of  baskets  and  the  hatchet — I  wish  we  had  two — and  I'll  be 
ready  in  no  time.  That'll  do  !  " 

It  is  to  be  noticed  that  Charlton  had  provided  against  any  future 
deficiency  of  news  in  his  family.  Fleda  skipped  away  and  in  five 
minutes  returned  arrayed  for  the  expedition,  in  her  usual  out-of- 
door  working  trim,  namely, — an  old  dark  merino  cloak,  almost 
olack,  the  effect  of  which  was  continued  by  the  edge  of  an  old 
dark  mousseline  below,  and  rendered  decidedly  striking  by  the 
contrast  of  a  large  whitish  yarn  shawl  worn  over  it  ;  the  whole 
crowned  with  a  little  close-fitting  hood  made  of  some  old  silver- 
grey  silk,  shaped  tight  to  the  head,  without  any  how  or  furbelow 
to  break  the  outline.  But  such  a  face  within  side  of  it !  She  came 
almost  dancing  into  the  room. 

"  This  is  Miss  Ringgan  ! — as  she  appeared  when  she  was  going 
to  see  the  pine  trees.  Hugh,  don't  you  wish  you  had  a  picture  oi 

"  I  have  got  a  tolerable  picture  of  you,  somewhere,"  said  Hugh« 
"This  is  somebody   very  different  from  the  Miss  Ringgan  that 
went  to  see  Mrs.  Evelyn,    I  can  tell   you,"  Fleda  went  on  gayly. 
"  Do  you  know,  aunt  Lucy,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  my  visit 
to  New  York  was  a   dream,  and  the  dream  is  nicely  folded  away 
with  my  silk  dresses,     Now   I   must  go  tell  that  precious  Philetus 
about  the  post-office — I    am   so  comforted,  aunt  Lucy,  whenever  I 
see  that  fellow  staggering  into  the  house  under  a  great  log  of  wood  ! 
I  have  not  heard  anything  in  a  long  thru;  so  pleasant  as  the  ringing 
Strokes  of  his  axe  in  the  yard.     Isn't  life  made  up  of  little  things  1  " 
'"'  Why  don't  you  put  a  better  pair  of  shoes  on?" 
"  Can't  afford  it,  Mrs.  Rossitur  !     You  are  extravagant!  " 
"  Go  and  put  on  my  India-rubbers." 

"Nt  ma'am  ! — the  rocks  would  cut  them  to  pieces,  I  havt 
brought  my  mind  down  to my  shoes." 


QUEECHY.  249 

"  It  isn't  safe,  Fleda  ;  you  might  see  somebody." 

"Well  ma'am! — But  I  tell  you  I  am  not  going  to  see  anybody 
but  the  chick-a-dees  and  the  snow-birds,  and  there  is  great  sim 
plicity  of  manners  prevailing  among  them." 

The  shoes  were  changed,  and  Hugh  and  Fleda  set  forth,  lingei 
ing  awhile  however  to  give  a  new  edge  to  their  hatchet,  Fleda 
turning  the  grindstone.  They  mounted  then  the  apple-orchard  hill 
and  went  a  little  distance  along  the  edge  of  the  table-land  before 
striking  off  into  the  woods.  They  had  stood  still  a  minute  to  look 
>ver  the  little  white  valley  to  trie  snow-dressed  woodland  beyond. 

"This  is  better  than  New  York,  Hugh,"  said  Fleda. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,"  said  another  voicee 
Fleda  turned  and  started  a  little,  to  see  Mr.  Olmney  at  her  side,  and 
congratulated  herself  instantly  on  her  shoes. 

"Mrs.  Rossitur  told  me  where  you  had  gone  and  gave  me  per 
mission  to  follow  you,  but  I  hardly  hoped  to  overtake  you  so 
soon." 

"  We  stopped  to  sharpen  our  tools,"  said  Fleda.  "  We  are  out 
on  a  foraging  expedition." 

"  Will  you  let  me  help  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly  ! — if  you  understand  the  business.  Do  you  know  a 
pine  knot  when  you  see  it  ?  " 

He  laughed  and  shook  his  head,  but  avowed  a  wish  to  learn. 

"  Well,  it  would  be  a  charity' to  teach  you  anything  wholesome," 
said  Fleda,  "  for  I  heard  one  of  Mr.  Olmney's  ifriends  lately  saying 
that  he  looked  like  a  person  who  was  in  danger  of  committing  sui 
cide." 

"Suicide! — One  of  my  friends!" — he  exclaimed  in  the  utmost 
astonishment. 

"Yes,"  said  Fleda  laughing; — "and  there  is  nothing  like  the 
open  air  for  clearing  away  vapors." 

14  You  cannot  have  known  that  by  experience,"  said  he  looking 
at  her. 

Fleda  shook  her  head  and  advising  him  to  take  nothing  for 
granted,  set  off  into  the  woods. 

They  were  in  a  beautiful  state.  A  light  snow  but  an  inch  or  two 
deep  had  fallen  the  night  before  ;  the  air  had  been  perfectly  still 
during  the  day  ;  and  though  the  sun  was  out,  bright  and  mild,  it 
had  clone  little  but  glitter  on  the  earth's  white  capping.  The  light 
dry  flakes  of  snow  had  not  stirred  from  their  first  resting-place. 
The  long  branches  of  the  large  pines  were  just  tipped  with  snow  at 
ihe  ends  ;  on  the  smaller  evergreens  every  leaf  and  tuft  had  its 
separate  crest.  Stones  and  rocks  were  smoothly  rounded  over, 
little  shrubs  and  sprays  that  lay  along  the  ground  were  all  doubled 
in  white  ;  and  the  hemlock  branches,  bending  with  their  feathery 
burthen,  stooped  to  the  foreheads  of  the  party  and  gave  them  the 
freshest  of  salutations  as  they  brushed  by.  The  whole  wood-scene' 
was  particularly  fair  and  graceful.  A  light  veil  of  purity,  no  more, 
thrown  over  the  \\ilderness  of  stones  and  stumps  and  bare  ground, 
— like  the  blessing  of  charity,  covering  all  roughnesses  and  un- 
sightlinesses — like  the  innocent  unsullied  nature  that  places  its 
light  shield  between  the  eye  and  whatever  is  unequal,  unkindly, 
and  unlovely  in  the  world. 


850 

"  What  do  you  think  of  this  for  a  misanthropical  man,  MX.  Olm« 
ney  ?  there's  a  better  tonic  to  be  found  in  the  woods  than  in  any 
remedies  of  man's  devising." 

"  Better  than  books?  "  said  he. 

"  Certainly  ! — No  comparison." 

"  I  have  to  learn  that  yet." 

"So  I  suppose,"  said  Fleda.  "The  very  danger  to  be  appre 
hended,  as  I  hear  sir,  is  from  your  running  a  tilt  into  some  of  those 
thick  folios  of  yours,  head  foremost. — There's  no  pitch  there,  Hugh 
—you  may  leave  it  alone.  We  must  go  on — there  are  more  yellov.- 
pines  higher  up." 

"  But  who  could  give  such  a  strange  character  of  me  to  you?' 
said  Mr.  Olmney. 

"  I  am  sure  your  wisdom  would  not  advise  me  to  tell  you  that, 
sir.  You  will  find  nothing  there,  Mr.  Olmney." 

They  went  gayly  on,  careering,  about  in  all  directions  and  bear* 
ing  down  upon  every  promising  stump  or  dead  pine  tree  they  saw 
in  the  distance.  Hugh  and  Mr.  Olmney  took  turns  in  the  labor  of 
hewing  out  the  fat  pine  knots  and  splitting  down  the  old  stumps  to 
get  at  the  pitchy  heart  of  the  wood  ;  and  the  baskets  began  to 
grow  heavy.  The  whole  party  were  in  excellent  spirits,  and  as 
happy  as  the  birds  that  rilled  the  woods  and  whose  cheery  "  chick- 
a-dee-dee-dee,"  was  heard  whenever  they  paused  to  rest  and  lei 
the  hatchet  be  still. 

"  How  one  sees  everything  in  the  color  of  one's  own  spectacles/' 
said  Fleda. 

"  May  I  ask  what  color  yours  are  to-day  ?  "  said  Mr.  Olmney. 

"Rose,  I  think,"  said  Hugh. 

"No,"  said  Fleda,  "they  are  better  than  that — they  are  n« 
worse  color  than  the  snow's  own — they  show  me  everything  just  as 
it  is.  It  could  not  be  lovelier." 

"Then  we  may  conclude,  may  we  not,"  said  Mr.  Olmney, 
3'that  you  are  not  sorry  to  find  yourself  in  Queechy  again?  " 

"  I  am  not  sorry  to  find  myself  in  the  woods  again.  That  is  not 
pitch,  Mr.  Olmney." 

"  It  has  the  same  color, — and  weight." 

"  No,  it  is  only  wet — see  this  and  smell  of  it — do  you  see  the 
difference?  Isn't  it  pleasant?  " 

"  Everything  is  pleasant  to-day,"  said  he  smiling. 

"  I  shall  report  you  a  cure.  Come,  I  want  to  go  a  little  higher 
and  show  you  a  view.  Leave  that,  Hugh, — we  have  got  enough — ' 

But  Hugh  chose  to  finish  an  obstinate  stump,  and  his  companions 
went  on  without  him.  It  was  not  very  far  up  the  mountain  and 
they  came  to  a  fine  look-out  point ;  the  same  where  Fleda  and  Mr. 
Carleton  had  paused  long  before  on  their  quest  after  nuts.  The 
wide  spread  of  country  was  a  white  waste  now  ;  the  delicate  beau 
ties  of  the  snow  were  lost  in  the  far  view  ;  and  the  distant  Catskill 
showed  wintrily  against  the  fair  blue  sky.  The  air  was  gentle 
enough  to  invite  them  to  stand  still,  after  the  exercise  they  had 
taken,  and  as  they  both  looked  in  silence  Mr.  Olmney  observed 
that  his  companion's  face  settled  into  a  gravity  rather  at  variance 
with  the  expression  it  had  worn. 


qUEECUY.  251 

"  I  should  havdly  think,"  said  he  softly,  "that  you  were  looking 
through  white  spectacles,  if  you  had  not  told  us  so." 

"O — a  shade  may  come  over  what  one  is  looking  at,  you  know," 
said  Fleda.  But  seeing  that  he  still  watched  her  inquiringly  she 
added, 

"  I  do  not  think  a  very  wide  landscape  is  ever  gay  in  its  effect 
upon  the  mind — do  you  ?  " 

"  Perhaps — I  do  not  know,"  said  he,  his  eyes  turning  to  it  agair 
as  if  to  try  what  the  effect  was. 

"  My  thoughts  had  gone  back,"  said  Fleda,  "  to  a  time  a  foo4 
Awhile  ago,  when  I  was  a  child  and  stood  here  in 'summer  weather— 
and  I  was  thinking  that  the  change  in  the  landscape  is  something 
like  that  which  years  make  in  the  mind." 

"  But  you  have  not,  for  a  long  time  at  least,  known  any  very- 
acute  sorrow  ?" 

"No — "  said  Fleda,  "but  that  is  not  necessary.  There  is  a 
gentle  kind  of  discipline  which  does  its  work  I  think  more  surely." 

"  Thank  God  for  gentle  discipline  !  "  said  Mr.  Olmney  ;  "  if  you 
do  not  know  what  those  griefs  are  that  break  down  mind  and  body 
together." 

"  I  am  not  unthankful,  I  hope,  for  anything,"  said  Fleda  gently  ; 
"but  I  have  been  apt  to  think  that  after  a  crushing  sorrow  the 
mind  may  rise  up  again,  but  that  a  long-continued  though  much 
lesser  pressure  in  time  breaks  the  spring." 

He  looked  at  he"r  again  with  a  mixture  of  incredulous  and  tender 
interest,  but  her  face  did  not  belie  her  words,  strange  as  they 
sounded  from  so  young  and  in  general  so  bright-seeming  a  creat 
ure. 

'"  There  shall  no  evil  happen  to  the  just,'  "  he  said  presently 
and  with  great  sympathy. 

Fleda  flashed  a  look  of  gratitude  at  him — it  was  no  more,  for  she 
felt  her  eyes  watering  and  turned  them  away. 

"  You  have  not,  I  trust,  heard  any  bad  news  ?  " 

"  No  sir — not  at  all !  "  m 

"  I  beg  pardon  for  asking,  but  Mrs.  Rossitur  seemed  to  be  in 
less  good  spirits  than  usual." 

He  had  some  reason  to  say  so,  having  found  her  in  a  violent  fit 
of  weeping. 

"  You  do  not  nSed  to  be  told,"  he  went  on,  "  of  the  need  there 
is  that  a  cloud  should  now  and  then  come  over  this  lower  scene — ' 
the  danger  that  if  it  did  not  our  eyes  would  look  nowhere  else?" 

There  is  something  very  touching  in  hearing  a  kind  voice  say  what 
one  has  often  struggled  to  say  to  oneself. 

"  I  know  it,  sir,"  said  Fleda,  her  words  a  little  choked, — "and 
one  may  not  wish  the  cloud  away, — but  it  does  not  the  less  cast  a 
shade  upon  the  face.  I  guess  Hugh  has  worked  his  way  into  the 
middle  of  that  stump  by  this  time,  Mr.  Olmney." 

They  rejoined  him  ;  and  the  baskets  being  now  sufficiently  heavy 
and  arms  pretty  well  tired  they  left  the  further  riches  of  the  pine 
woods  unexplored  and  walked  sagely  homeward.  At  the  brow  of 
the  table-land  Mr.  Olmney  left  them  to  take  a  shorter  cut  to  the 
high-road,  having  a  visit  to  make  which  the  shortening  day  warned 
fain*  net  to  defer. 


252  QUEECHY. 

"Put  down  your  basket  and  rest  a  minute,  Hugh,"  said  Fleda. 
••  I  had  a  world  of  things  to  talk  to  you  about,  a*nd  this  blessed  man 
has  driven  them  ail  out  of  my  head." 

"  But  you  are  not  sorry  he  came  along  with  us?  " 

"O  no.  We  had  a  very  good  time.  How  lovely  it  is,  Hught 
Look  at  the  snow  down  there — without  a  track  ;  and  the  woods  have 
been  dressed  by  the  fairies.  O  look  how  the  sun  is  glinting  on  the 
west  side  of  that  hillock!  " 

"  It  is  twice  as  bright  since  you  have  come  home,"  said  Hugh. 

'*  The  snow  is  too  beautiful  to-day.  O  I  was  right !  one  may 
L-row  morbid  over  books — but  I  defy  anybody  in  the  company  o{ 
those  chick-a-dees.  I  should  think  it  would  be  hard  to  keep  quite 
sound  in  the  city." 

"  You  are  glad  to  be  here  again,  aren't  you  ?  "  said  Hugh. 

"  Very  !  O  Hugh  ! — it  is  better  to  be  poor  and  have  one's  feet  on 
these  hills,  than  to  be  rich  and  shut  up  to  brick  walls  !  " 

"  It  is  best  as  it  is,"  said  Hugh  quietly. 

"Once,"  Fleda  went  on, — "  one  fair  day  when  I  was  out  driving 
in  New  York,  it  did  come  over  me  with  a  kind  of  pang  how  pleas 
ant  it  would  be  to  have  plenty  of  money  again  and  be  at  ease  ;  and 
then,  as  I  was  looking  off  over  that  pretty  North  river  to  the  other 
shore,  I  bethought  me,  '  A  little  that  a  righteous  man  hath  is  better 
than  the  riches  of  many  wicked.'  ' 

Hugh  did  not  answer,  for  the  face  she  turned  to  him  in  its  half 
tearful  half  bright  submission  took  away  his  speech. 

"  Why  you  cannot  have  enjoyed  yourself  as  much  as  we  thought, 
Fleda,  if  you  dislike  the  city  so  much  ?" 

"  Yes  I  did.  O  I  enjoyed  a  great  many  things.  I  enjoyed  being 
with  the  Evelyns.  You  don't  know  how  much  they  made  of  me, — 
every  one  of  them, — father  and  mother  and  all  the  three  daughters 
— and  uncle  Orrin.  I  have  been  well  petted,  I  can  tell  you,  since  I 
have  been  gone." 

"  I  am  glad  they  showed  so  much  discrimination,"  said  Hugh  ; 
"  they  would  be  puzzled  to  make  too  much  of  you." 

"  i  must  have  been  in  a  remarkably  discriminating  society,"  said 
Fleda,  "  for  everybody  was  very  kind  !  " 

"  How  do  you  like  the  Evelyns  on  a  nearer  view  ?  " 

"  Very  much  indeed  ;  and  I  believe  they  really  love  me.  Noth. 
ing  could  possibly  be  kinder,  in  all  ways  of  showing  kindness.  ! 
shall  never  forget  it." 

1  Who  were  you  driving  with  that  day  ?  "  said  Hugh. 
Mr.  Thorn." 
'  Did  you  see  much  of  him  ?  " 

Quite  as  much  as  I  wished.     Hugh 1  took  your  advice." 

'About  what?"  said  Hugh. 

I   carried   dcivn   some   of  my  scribblings    and  sent  them  to  a 
Magazine." 

"Did  you!"  said  Hugh. looking  delighted.  "And  will  they 
publish  them?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Fleda,  "that's  another  matter.  I  sent 
tbr»  a,  or  uncle  Orrin  did,  when  I  first  went  down  ;  and  I  have  heard 
nothing  of  them  yet." 

"  You  showed  them  to  uncle  Orrin  t  '* 


QUEECBY.  2fc> 

«•  Couldn't  help  it,  you  know.     I  had  to." 

"  And  what  did  he  say  to  them  ?  " 

"Come! — I'm  not  going  to  be  cross-questioned,"  said  Fleda 
laughing.  "  He  did  not  prevent  my  sending  them." 

"And  if  they  take  them,  do  you  expect  they  will  give  anything 
for  them  ? — the  Magazine  people  ? " 

"  I  am  sure  if  they  don't  they  shall  have  no  more — that  is  my 
only  possible  inducement  to  let  them  be  printed.  For  my  own 
pleasure,  I  would  far  rather  not." 

"  Did  you  sign  with  your  own  name?" 

"  My  own  name  ! — Yes,  and  desired  it  to  be  printed  in  large capi- 
«als.  What  are  you  thinking  of?  No — I  hope  you'll  forgive  me. 
fetit  I  signed  myself  what  our  friend  the  doctor  calls  '  Yugh.' 

"  I'll  forgive  you  if  you'll  do  one  thing  for  me.'' 

"What?" 

"  Show  me  all  you  have  in  your  portfolio — Do,  Fleda — to-night, 
fey  the  light  of  the  pitch-pine  knots.  Why  shouldn't  you  give  me 
that  pleasure  ?  And  besides,  you  know  Moliere  had  an  old 
woman  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Fleda  with  a  face  that  to  Hugh  was  extremely  sat 
isfactory, — "  we'll  see — I  suppose  you  might  as  well  read  my  pro 
ductions  in  manuscript  as  in  print.  But  they  are  in  a  terribly 
scratchy  condition — they  go  sometimes  for  weeks  in  my  head  be 
fore  I  find  time  to  put  them  down — you  may  guess  polishing  is 
pretty  well  out  of  the  question.  Suppose  we  try  to  get  home  with 
these  baskets." 

Which  they  did. 

11  Has  Philetus  got  home  ?  "  was  Fleda' s  first  question, 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur,  "but  Dr.  Quackenboss  has  been 
here  and  brought  the  paper — he  was  at  the  post-office  this  morning, 
he  says.  Did  you  see  Mr.  Qlmney  ?" 

"Yes  ma'am,  and  I  feel  he  has  saved  me  from  a  lame  arm— » 
those  pine  knots  are  so  heavy." 

"He  is  a  lovely  young  man!  "  said  Mrs.  Rossitur  with  unconv 
mon  emphasis. 

"  I  should  have  been  blind  to  the  fact,  aunt  Lucy,  if  you  had  not 
made  me  change  my  shoes.  At  present,  no  disparagement  to  him, 
1  feel  as  if  a  cup  of  tea  would  be  rather  more  lovely  than  any 
thing  else." 

"  He  sat  with  me  some  time,"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur  ;  "I  was 
ifraid  he  would  not  overtake  you." 

Tea  was  ready,  and  only  waiting  for  Mrs.  Rossitur  to  come 
down-stairs,  when  Fleda,  whose  eye  was  carelessly  running  along 
the  columns  of  the  paper,  uttered  a  sudden  shout  and  covered  her 
face  with  it.  Hugh  looked  up  in  astonishment,  but  Fleda  was  be 
yond  anything  but  exclamations,  laughing  and  flushing  to  the  very 
roots  of  her  hair. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Fleda  ?  " 

"Why,"  said  Fleda, — "how  comical! — I  was  just  looking  over 
«he  list  of  articles  in  the  January  number  of  the  '  Excelsior'  " — 

"  The  '  Excelsior  '  ?  "  said  Hugh. 

"  Yes — the  Magazine  I  sent  my  things  to — I  was  running  over 
0ttir  advertisement  here,  where  they  give  a  special  puff  of  thf 


3S4  QVEECHT. 

publication  in  general  and  of  several  things  in  particular,  and  I  saw 
— here  they  speak  of  •  A  tale  of  thrilling  interest  by  Mrs.  Eliflfc 
Lothbury,  unsurpassed,'  and  so  forth  and  so  forth;  'another  valu 
able  communication  from  Mr.  Charleston,  whose  first  acute  and 
discriminating  paper  all  our  readers  will  remember  ;  the  beginning 
of  a  new  tale  from  the  infallibly  graceful  pen  of  Miss  Delia  Law- 
riston  ;  we  are  sure  it  will  be  '  so  tand  so  ;  '  "  The  wind s  voices,'3 
by  eur  new  correspondent  "  Hugh"  has  a  delicate  sweetness  thai 
tuould  do  no  discredit  to  some  of  our  most  honored  names  / ' — What  d© 
you  think  of  that?  " 

What  Hugh  thought  he  did  not  say,  but  he  looked  delightedt 
and  came  to  read  the  grateful  words  for  himself. 

"  I  did  not  know  but  they  had  declined  it  utterly,"  said  Fleda, 
. — "  it  was  so  long  since  I  had  sent  it  and  they  had  taken  no  no 
tice  of  it ;  but  it  seems  they  kept  it  for  the,  beginning  of  a  new 
volume." 

"  •  Would  do  no  discredit  to  some  of  our  most  honored  names  ]  " 
said  Hugh.  "  Dear  Fleda,  I  am  very  glad  !  But  it  is  no  more 
than  I  expected." 

"Expected!"  said  Fleda.  "When  you  had  not  seen  aline! 
Hush — My  dear  Hugh,  aren't  you  hungry?  " 

The  tea,  with  this  spice  to  their  appetites,  was  wonderfully  rel 
ished  ;  and  Hugh  and  Fleda  kept  making  despatches  of  secret 
pleasure  and  sympathy  to  each  other's  eyes  ;  though  Fleda's  face 
after  the  first  flush  had  faded  was  perhaps  rather  quieter  than  usual. 
Hugh's  was  illuminated. 

"  Mr.  Skillcorn  is  a  smart  man!  "  said  Barby  coming  in  with  9 
package, — "  he  has  made  out  to  go  two  miles  in  two  hours  and  get 
back  again  safe  ?  ' ' 

"  More  from  the  post-office !  "  exclaimed  Fleda  pouncing  upon 
it, — "  oh  yes,  there  has  been  another  mail.  A  letter  for  you,  aunt 
Lucy  !  from  uncle  Rolf! — We'll  forgive  him,  Barby — And  hece'S  a 
letter  for  me,  from  uncle  Orrin,  and — yes — the  '  Excelsior."  Hugh, 
uncle  Orrin  said  he  would  send  it.  Now  for  those  blessed  pine 
knots !  Aunt  Lucy,  you  shall  be  honored  with  the  one  whole  can- 
He  the  house  contains." 

The  table  soon  cleared  away,  the  basket  of  fat  fuel  was  brought  in  ; 
and  one  or  two  splinters  being  delicately  insinuated  between  the 
nicks  on  the  fire  a  very  brilliant  illumination  sprang  out.  Fleda 
sent  a  congratulatory  look  over  to  Hugh  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Sreplace  as  she  cozily  established  herself  on  her  little  bench  atone 
corner  with  her  letter  ;  he  had  the  Magazine.  Mrs.  Rossitur  be 
tween  them  at  the  table  with  her  one  candle  was  already  insensible 
to  all  outward  things. 

And  soon  the  other  two  were  as  delightfully  absorbed.  The 
bright  light  of  the  fire  shone  upon  three  motionless  and  rapt  fig 
ures,  and  getting  no  greeting  from  them  went  off  and  danced  on 
the  r«^  cupboard  doors  and  paper  hangings,  in  a  kindly  hearty 
jjovi^iit/  that  would  have  put  any  number  of  stately  wax  candles 
out  of  countenance.  There  was  no  poverty  in  the  room  that  night. 
But  the  people  were  too  busy  to  how  cosy  they  were  ;  till  Fleda 
was  ready  to  look  up  from  her  note  and  Hugh  had  gone  twice  care 
fully  over  the  new  poem, — when  there  was  a  sudden  giving  out  of 


QOk&CHY.  256 

the  pine  splinters.  New  ones  were  supplied  in  eager  haste  and  si« 
lence,  and  Hugh  was  beginning  "  The  wind's  voices  "  for  the  third 
time  when  a  soft-whispered  "Hugh!"  across  the  fire  made  hi» 
look  over  to  Fleda's  corner.  She  was  holding  up  with  both  hands 
a  five-dollar  bank  note  and  just  showing  him  her  eyes  over  it. 

"  What  s  that?"  said  Hugh  in  an  energetic  whisper. 

"  I  don't  know  !  "  said  Fleda,  shaking  her  head  comical)  f  ;— ••  I 
am  told  '  The  wind's  voices '  have  blown  it  here,  but  privately  I  am 
afraid  it  is  a  windfall  of  another  kind." 

"What  ?  "  said  Hugh  laughing. 

"  Uncle  Orrin  says  it  is  the  first  fruits  of  what  I  sent  to  the  '  Lx 
eelsior,'  and  that  more  will  come  ;  but  I  do  not  feel  at  all  sure  that 
k  is  entirely  the  growth  of  that  soil." 

"  I  dare  say  it  is,"  said  Hugh  ;  "  I  am  sure  it  is  worth  more  than 
that.  Dear  Fleda,  I  like  it  so  much  !  " 

Fleda  gave  him  such  a  smile  of  grateful  affection  !— not  at  all  as 
if  she  deserved  his  praise  but  as  if  it  was  very  pleasant  to  have. 

"  What  put  it  into  your  head  ?  anything  particular?  " 

"  No— nothing— I  was  looking  out  of  the  window  one  day  and 
seeing  the  willow  tree  blow  ;  and  that  looked  over  my  shoulder ;  as 
you  know  Hans  Anderson  says  his  stories  did." 

•"'  It  is  just  like  you  ! — exactly  as  it  can  be." 

"Things  put  themselves  in  my  head, "'said  Fleda,  tucking  an 
other  splinter  into  the  fire.  "  Isn't  this  better  than  a  chandelier?" 

"  Ten  times  ! 

"  And  so  much  pleasanter  for  having  got  it  ourselves.  What  a 
nice  time  we  had,  Hugh?  " 

"Very.  Now  for  the  portfolio,  Fleda — come! — mother  is  fast ; 
she  won't  see  or  hear  anything.  What  does  father  say,  mother?  " 

In  answer  to  this  they  had  the  letter  read,  which  indeed  contained 
nothing  remarkable  beyond  its  strong  expressions  of  affection  to 
each  one  of  the  little  family  ;  a  cordial  which  Mrs.  Rossitur  drank 
and  grew  strong  upon  in  the  very  act  of  reading.  It  is  pity  the 
medicine  of  kind  words  is  not  more  used  in  the  world — it  ha  s  GO 
much  power.  Then,  having  folded  up  her  treasure  and  talk<  d  a 
little  while  about  it,  Mrs.  Rossitur  caught  up  the  Magazine  like  a 
person  who  had  been  famished  in  that  kind  ;  and  soon  she  and  it 
and  her  tallow  candle  formed  a  trio  apart  from  all  the  world  again. 
Fleda  and  Hugh  were  safe  to  pass  most  mysterious  looking  little 
papers  from  hand  to  hand  right  before  her,  though  they  had  the 
care  to  read  them  behind  newspapers,  and  exchanges  of  thought  and 
feeling  went  on  more  swiftly  still,  and  softly,  across  the  fire.  Looksf 
and  smiles,  and  whispers,  and  tears  too,  under  cover  of  a  Tribune 
and  an  Express.  And  the  blaze  would  die  down  just  when  Hugh 
had  got  to  the  last  verse  of  something,  and  then  while  impatiently 
waiting  for  the  new  pine  splinters  to  catch  he  would  tell  Fleda  how 
much  he  liked  it,  or  how  beautiful  he  thought  it,  and  whisper  en 
quiries  and  critical  questions  ;  till  the  fire  reached  the  fat  vein  and 
leaped  up  in  defiant  emulation  of  gas-lights  unknown,  and  then  he 
would  fall  to  again  with  renewed  gusto.  And  Fleda  hunted  out  in 
her  portfolio  what  bits  to  give  him  first,  and  bade  him  as  she  gave 
them  remember  this  and  understand  that,  which  was  necessary  to 
be  borne  in  mind  in  the  reading.  And  through  all  the  brightening 


296  QUEECHY. 

and  fading  blaze,  and  all  the  whispering,  congratulating,  explaining, 
and  rejoicing  going  on  at  her  side,  Mrs.  Rossitur  and  her  tallow 
candle  were  devoted  to  each  other,  happily  and  engrossingly.  At 
last  however  she  flung  the  Magazine  from  her  and  turning  from  the 
table  sat  looking  into  the  fire  with  a  rather  uncommonly  carefaft  and 
unsatisfied  brow. 

"What  did  you  think  of  the  second  piece  of  poetry  there 
mother?  "  said  Hugh  ;  —  "that  ballad?  —  '  The  wind's  voices'  it  U 
called." 

"•The  wind's  voices'?  —  I   don't  know  —  I  didn't  read  it,  I  be^ 


"\Vhy  mother!      I  liked   it   very   much.      Do  read  it  —  read 
aloud.  ' 

Mrs.  Rosjsitur  took  up  the  Magazine  again  abstractly,  and  read* 

««  «  Mamma  what  makes  your  face  so  sad  ? 
The  sound  of  the  wind  makes  me  feel  glad'; 
But  whenever  it  blows,  as  grave  you  look, 
As  if  you  were  reading  a  sorrowful  book.' 

"  <  A  sorrowful  book  I  am  reading,  dear,— 
A  book  of  weeping  and  pain  and  fear,  — 
A  book  deep  printed  on  my  heart, 
Which  I  cannot  read  but  the  tears  will  start. 

"'That  breeze  to  my  ear  was  soft  and  mild 
Just  so,  when  I  was  a  little  child  ; 
But  now  I  hear  in  its  freshening  breath 
Tte  voices  of  those  that  sleep  in  death.* 

*  •  Mamma,'  said  the  child  with  shaded  brow 
«  What  is  this  book  you  are  reading  now  ? 
And  why  do  you  read  what  makes  you  cry* 
«  My  child,  it  comes  up  before  my  eye. 

*  *  'Tis  the  memory,  love,  of  a  far-off  day 
When  my  life's  best  friend  was  taken  away;— 
Of  the  weeks  and  months  that  my  eyes  were  djfefe 
Watching  for  tidings  —  watching  for  him. 

*  «  Many  a  year  has  come  and  past 
Since  a  ship  sailed  over  the  ocean  fast, 
Bound  for  a  port  on  England's  shore,  — 
She  sailed—but  was  never  heard  of  more." 

"-*«  Mamma  '—and  she  closer  pressed  her  side,-* 
4  Was  that  the  time  when  my  father  died?—' 
Is  it  his  ship  you  think  you  see  ?  — 
Dearest  mamma  —  won't  you  speak  to  me?* 

'The  lady  paused,  but  then  calmly  said, 
Yes  Lucy  —  the  sea  was  his  dying  bed. 
And  now  whenever  I  hear  the  blasf 
I  think  again  of  that  stooa  long  peat. 


QUEECEY, 

••-The  winds'  fierce  bowlings  hurt  not  me, 
i*ut  I  think  bow  tbey  beat  on  the  pathless 
Of  the  breaking  mast — of  the  parting  rope, — 
Of  the  anxious  strife  and  the  failing  hope.' 

'•Mamma,'  said  the  child  with  streaming  eyes, 
« My  father  has  gone  above  the  skies ; 
And  you  tell  me  this  world  is  mean  and  base 
Compared  with  heaven — that  blessed  place.' 

**  •  My  daughter,  I  know — I  believe  it  all, — 
I  would  not  his  spirit  to  earth  recall. 
The  blest  one  he — his  storm  was  brief,— 
Mine,  a  long  tempest  of  tears  and  grief. 

" '  I  have  you  my  darling — I  should  not  sigh. 
I  have  one  star  more  in  my  cloudy  sky, — 
The  hope  that  we  both  shall  join  him  there, 
In  that  perfect  rest  from  weeping  and  care.' " 

"  Well  mother, — how  do  you  like  it  ?"  said  Hugh  whose  eye*  gave 
lender  witness  to  his  liking  for  it. 

"  It  is  pretty — "  said  Mrs.  Rossitur. 

Hugh  exclaimed,  and  Fleda  laughing  took  it  out  of  her  nand. 

11  Why  mother !  "  said  Hugh, — "  it  is  Fleda's." 

"Fleda's!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Rosskur,  snatching  the  Magazine 
again.  "My  dear  child,  I  was  not  thinking  in  the  leasr  of  \vh?t  I 
was  reading.  Fleda's  ! — " 

She  read  it  over  anew,  with  swimming  eyes  this  time,  and  then 
clasped  Fleda  in  her  arms  and  gave  her,  not  words,  but  the  better 
reward  of  kisses  and  tears.  They  remained  so  a  long  time,  even  till 
Hugh  left  them  ;  and  then  Fleda  released  from  her  aunt's  embrace 
still  crouched  by  her  ";de  with  one  av.n  in  her  lap. 

They  both  sat  thoughtfully  looking  into  the  fire  till  it  had  burnt 
itself  out  and  nothing  but  a  glowing  bed  of  coals  remained. 

"  That  is  an  excellent  young  man  !  "  said  Mrs.  Rossitur. 

"Who?" 

"  Mr.  Olmney.     He  sat  with  me  some  time  after  you  had  gone.** 

;'So  you  said  before,"  said  Fleda,  wondering  at  the  troubled 
:xpresaion  or  her  aunt's  face. 

"He  made  me  wish,"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur  hesitating, — "that  I 
could  be  something  different  from  what  I  am — I  believe  I  should, 
be  a  great  deal  happier" — 

The  last  word  was  hardly  spoken.  Fleda  rose  to  her  knees  and 
puttiag  both  arms  about  her  aunt  pressed  face  to  face,  and  witli  a 
clinging  sympathy  that  told  how  very  near  her  spirit  was  ;  white 
tears  from  the  eyes  of  both  fell  without  measure. 

"  Dear  aunt  Lucy — dear  aunt  Lucy — I  wish  you  would  ! — I  am 
sure  you  would  be  a  great  deal  happier- — " 

But  the  mixture  of  feelings  was  too  much  for  Fleda  ;  her  he-ad 
sank  lower  on  her  aunt's  bosom  and  she  wept  aloud. 

••  But  I  don't  know  anything  about  it !  "  said  Mrs.  Rossitur,  as 
well  fcs  she  ccufe}  speak,—11 1  am  as  ignorant  as  a  child  ! — " 

"  Dear   aunty  !  that  is  nothing — God   will  teach  you  if  you  ask 


858  QUEECJTr. 

him  ;  he  has  promised.  Oh  ask  him,  aunt  Lucy  '  I  know  you 
would  be  happier ! — I  know  it  is  better — a  million  uip?<«s  .'—to  be  a 
^nild  of  God  than  to  have  everything  in  the  world. — If  they  only 
brought  us  that,  I  would  be  very  glad  of  all  our  troubles !— in 
deed  I  would  !  ' ' 

"  But  I  don't  think  I  ever  did  anything  right  in  my  life1.  r  said 
poor  Mrs.  Rossitur. 

"  Dear  aunt  Lucy  !  "  said  Fleda,  straining  her  closer  and  with 
her  very  heart  gushing  out  at  these  words, — "dear aunty — Chris' 
came  for  just  such  sinners  * — for  just  such,  as  you  and  I." 

"  You" — said  Mrs.  Rossitur,  but  speech  failed  utterly,  and  with 
a  muttered  prayer  that  Fleda  would  help  her,  she  sunk  her  head 
upon  her  shoulder  and  sobbed  herself  into  quietness,  or  into  ex 
haustion.  The  glow  of  the  firelight  faded  away  till  only  a  faint 
sparkle  was  left  in  the  chimney. 

There  was  not  another  word  spoken,  but  when  they  rose  up, 
with  such  kisses  as  gave  an^f  took  unuttered  affection,  counsel  and 
sympathy,  they  bade  each  other  good-night. 

Fleda  went  to  her  window,  for  the  moon  rode  high  and  her 
sjiildish  habit  had  never  been  forgotten.  But  surely  the  face  that 
looked  out  that  night  was  as  the  face  of  an  angel.  In  all  the  pour 
ing  moonbeams  that  rilled  the  air,  she  could  see  nothing  but  the 
flood  of  God's  goodness  on  a  dark  world.  And  her  heart  that 
night  had  nothing  but  an  unbounded  and  unqualified  thanksgiving 
for  all  the  "gentle  discipline"  they  had  felt;  for  every  sorrow 
and  weariness  and  disappointment ; — except  besides  the  prayer, 
almost  too  deep  to  be  put  into  words,  that  its  due  and  hoped-for 
fruit  might  be  brought  forth  into  perfection. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

::f  I  become  not  a  cart  as  well  as  another  man,  a  plague  on  my  bringing  up* 

SHAKSPEARE. 

EVERY  day  could  not  be  as  bright  as  the  last,  even  by  the  help 
of  pitch  pine  knots.  They  blazed  indeed,  many  a  time,  but  the 
blaze  shone  upon  faces  that  it  could  not  sometimes  light  up.  Mat 
kers  drew  gradually  within  a  smaller  and  smaller  compass.  Anothe 
five  dollars  came  from  uncle  Orrin,  and  the  hope  of  more  ;  bi 
these  were  carefully  laid  by  to  pay  Philetus ;  and  for  all  other 
wants  of  the  household  excepting  those  the  farm  supplied  the 
family  were  dependent  on  more  driblets  of  sums.  None  came 
from  Mr.  Rossitur.  Hugh  managed  to  collect  a  very  little.  That 
kept  them  from  absolute  distress  ;  that,  and  Fleda's  delicate  in 
strumentality.  Regular  dinners  were  given  up,  fresh  meat  being 
now  unheard-of,  unless  when  a  kind  neighbor  made  them  a  pres 
ent  ;  and  appetite  would  have  lagged  sadiy  but  for  Fleda's  untiring 
care.  She  thought  no  tinfle  nor  pains  ill-bestowed  which  could 
prevent  her  aunt  and  Hugh  from  feeling  the  want  of  old  com 
forts  ;  and  her  nicest  skill  was  displayed  in  varying  the  combi 
nations  of  their  very  few  and  simple  stores.  The  diversity  and 
deliciousness  of  her  bread-stuffs,  Barby  said,  was  "  beyond  every 
thing;'  "  and  a  cup  of  rich  coffee  was  found  to  cover  all  deficiea* 


qVEEC'HY.  259 

cles  of  removes  and  entremets  ;  and  this  was  always  served,  Barby 
satd  further,  as  if  the  President  of  the  United  States  was  expected. 
Fleda  never  permitted  the  least  slackness  in  the  manner  of  doing 
this  or  anything  else  that  she  could  control. 

Mr.  Plumfield  had  sent  down  an  opportune  present  of  a  fine 
porker.  One  cold  day  in  the  beginning  of  February  Fleda  was 
busy  in  the  kitchen  making  something  for  dinner,  and  Hugh  at 
another  table  was  vigorously  chopping  sausage-meat. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  some  cake  again,"  said  Fleda. 

*  Well,  why  don't  you?  "  said  Hugh,  chopping  away. 

"No  eggs,  Mr.  Rossitur, — and  can't  afford 'em  at  two  shillings 
a  dozen.  I  believe  I  am  getting  discontented — I  have  a  great  de 
sire  to  do  something  to  distinguish  myself — I  would  make  a  plum 
pudding  if  I  had  raisins,  but  there  is  not  one  in  the  house." 

"  You  can  get  'em  up  to  Mr.  Hemps's  for  sixpence  a  pound," 
said  Barby. 

But  Fleda  shook  her  head  at  the  sixpence  and  went  on  moulding 
out  her  biscuits  diligently. 

"  I  wish  Philetus  would  make  his  appearance  with  the  cows — < 
it  is  a  very  odd  thing  they  should  be  gone  since  yesterday  morn 
ing  and  no  news  of  them." 

"  I  only  hope  the  snow  ain't  so  bright  it'll  blind  his  eyes,"  said 
Barby. 

"There  he  is  this  minute,"  said  Hugh,  "It  is  impossible  to 
tell  from  his  countenance  whether  successful  or  not." 

"Well  where  are  the  cows,  Mr.  Skillcorn?"  said  Barby  as  he 
came  in. 

"  I  have  went  all  over  town,"  said  the  person  addressed,  "and 
they  ain't  no  place." 

"Have  you  asked  news  of  them,  Philetus?" 

"  I  have  asked  the  hull  town,  and  I  have  went  all  over,  'till  I 
was  a'most  beat  out  with  the  cold, — and  I  ha' n't  seen  the  first  sight 
of  'em  yet !  " 

Fleda  and  Hugh  exchanged  looks,  while  Barby  and  Mr.  Skill- 
corn  entered  into  an  animated  discussion  of  probabilities  and  im 
possibilities. 

"  If  we  should  be  driven  from  our  coffee  dinners  to  tea  with  no 
milk  in  it !  " — said  Hugh  softly  in  mock  dismay. 

"  Wouldn't !  "  said  Fleda,  "  We'd  beat  up  an  egg  and  put  it  in 
he  coffee." 

"  We  couldn't  afford  it,"  said  Hugh  smiling. 
'  Could  ! — cheaper  than  to  keep  the  cows.     I'll  have  some  sugar 
it  any  rate,  I'm  determined.     Philetus  !  " 

"  Marm!  " 

"  I  wish,  when  you  have  got  a  good  pile  of  wood  chopped,  you 
would  make  some  troughs  to  put  under  the  maple  trees — you  know 
how  to  make  them,  don't  you  ?  " 

"I  do!" 

"  I  wish  you  would  make  some — you  have  pine  logs  out  there 
large  enough,  haven't  you?" 

"  They  hadn't  ought  to  want  much  of  it — there's  some  'gregious 
big  ones  !  " 

"  I  don't  know  how  many  we  shall  want,  but  a  hundred  or  two  at 


any   rate  :  >;er    the  better.     Do  you  know  how  miK!h 

s"gar  they  make  from  one  tree  ?" 

"  vv'aii  I  don't,"  said  Mr.  Skillcorn,  with  the  air  of  a  person  who 
was  at  fault  on  no  other  point; — "the  big  trees  gives  more  than 
the  little  ones — " 

Fleda's  eyes  flashed  at  Hugh,  who  took  to  chopping  in  sheer 
desperation  ;  and  the  muscles  of  both  gave  them  full  occupation 
for  five  minutes.  Philetus  stood  comfortably  warming  himself  at 
the  tire,  looking  first  at  one  and  then  at  the  other,  as  if  they  were  a 
show  and  he  had  paid  for  it.  Barby  grew  impatient. 

"  I  guess  this  cold  weather  makes  lazy  people  of  tne  !  '  she 
said  bustling  about  her  fire  with  an  amount  of  energy  that  was 
significant.  It  seemed  to  signify  nothing  to  Philetus.  He  only 
moved  a  little  out  of  the  way. 

'  Didenhover's  cleared  out,"  he  burst  forth  at  length  abruptly. 

"What!"  said  Fleda  and  Barby  at  once,  the  broom  and  the 
biscuits  standing  still. 

"Mr.  Didenhover." 

"  What  of  him?  " 

"  He  has  tuk  himself  off  out  o*  town." 

"Where  to?" 

"  I  can't  tell  where  teu — he  ain't  coming  back,  'tain't  likely." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  'Cause  he's  tuk  all  his  traps  and  went,  and  he  said  farming 
didn't  pay  and  he  wa'n't  a  going  to  have  nothin'  more  to  deu  with 
it  ; — he  telled  Mis'  Simpson  so — he  lived  to  Mis'  Simpson's  ;  and 
she  telled  Mr.  Ten  Eyck." 

"  Are  you  sure,  Philetus?  " 

"Sure  as  "lection! — he  telled  Mis'  Simpson  so,  and  she  telled 
Mr.  Ten  Eyck  ;  and  he's  cleared  out." 

Fleda  and  Hugh  again  looked  at  each  other.  Mr.  Skillcorn 
having  now  delivered  himself  of  his  news  went  out  to  the  wood- 
yard. 

"  I  hope  he  ha'n't  carried  off  our  cows  along  with  him,"  said 
Barby,  as  she  too  went  out  to  some  other  part  of  her  premises. 

"  He  was  to  have  made  us  quite  a  payment  on  the  first  of  March, '* 
said  Fleda. 

"  Yes,  and  that  was  to  have  gone  to  uncle  Orrin,"  said  Hugh. 

"We  shall  not  see  a  cent  of  it.  And  we  wanted  a  little  of  it  lo, 
ourselves.— I  have  that  money  from  the  Excelsior,  but  I  can'? 
touch  a  penny  of  it  for  it  must  go  to  Philetus's  wages.  What  Barby 
does  without  hers  I  do  not  know — she  has  had  but  one  five  dollars 
in  six  months.  Why  she  stays  I  cannot  imagine  ;  unless  it  is  for 
pure  love." 

"  As  soon  as  the  spring  opens  I  can  go  to  the  mill  again,"  said 
Hugh  after  a  little  pause.  'Fleda  looked  at  him  sorrowfully,  and 
shook  her  head  as  she  withdrew  her  eyes. 

"I  wish  father  would  give  up  the  farm,"  Hugh  went  on  under 
his  breath.  "  I  cannot  bear  to  live  upon  uncle  Orrin  so." 

Fleda's  answer  was  to  clasp  her  hands.  Her  only  words  were. 
11  Don't  say  anything  to  aunt  Lucy." 

"  It  is  of  no  use  to  say  anything  t»  anybody,"  said  Hugh.  "  Bui 
ft  weighs  me  to  the  ground,  Fleda  !  " 


QUEKCHY.  261 

"  If  uncle  Rolf  doesn't  come  home  by  spring — I  hope,  I  hope  he 
will !— 4nit  if  he  does  not,  I  will  take  desperate  measures.  I  will 
try  farming  myself,  Hugh.  I  have  thought  of  it,  and  I  certainly 
will.  1  will  get  Earl  Douglass  or  somebody  else  to  play  second 
fiddle,  but  I  will  have  but  one  head  on  the  farm  and  I  will  try  what 
mine  is  worth." 

"  You  could  not  do  it.  Fleda." 

"  One  can  do  anything  ! — with  a  strong  enough  motive." 

"  I'm  afraid  you'd  soon  be  tired,  Fleda." 

"  Not  if  I  succeeded — not  so  tired  as  I  am  now." 

;<  Poor  Fleda  !     I  dare  say  you  are  tired  !  " 

-'It  wasn't  that  I  meant,"  said  Fleda,  sligntly  drawing  hei 
breath  ;  -"  T  meant  this  feeling  of  everything  going  wrong,  and 
unclo  Orrin,  and  all — ' 

"But  you  are  weary,"  said  Hugh  affectionately.  "I  see  it  in 
your  face." 

"Mot  so  much  body  as  mind,  after  a\\.  Oh  Hugh!  this  is  the 
worst  part  of  being  poor  ! — the  constant  occupation  of  one's  mind 
on  a  miserable  succession  of  trifles.  I  am  so  weary  sometimes! — 
If  I  only  had  a  nice  book  to  rest  myself  for  a  while  and  forget  all 
these  things-— I  would  give  so  much  for  it ! — " 

"  De;ir  Fleda!    I  wish  you  had  !  " 

"  That  was  one  delight  of  being  in  New  York — I  forgot  all  about 
money  from  one  end  of  it  to  the  other — I  put  all  that  away  ; — and 
not  having  to  think  of  meals  till  I  came  to  eat  them.  You  can't 
thick  how  tired  I  get  of  ringing  the  changes  on  pork  and  flour  and 
Indian  meal  and  eggs  and  vegetables! — " 

Fieda  looked  tired,  and  pale  ;  and  Hugh  looked  sadly  conscious 
of  ir. 

"  Don't  tell  aunt  Lucy  I  have  raid  all  this  !  "  she  exclaimed 
after  a  moment  rousing  herself, — "I  don't  always  feel  so — only 
once  in  a  while  I  get  such  a  fit — And  now  I  have  just  troubled  you 
by  speaking  of  it !  " 

"  You  don't  trouble  any  one  in  that  way  very  often,  dear  Fleda/' 
said  Hugh  kissing  her. 

"  I  ought  not  at  all — you  have  enough  else  to  think  of— but  it  is 
a  kind  of  relief  sometimes.  I  like  to  do  these  things  in  general- 
only  no\v  and  then  I  get  tired,  as  I  v,  as  just  now,  I  suppose,  and- 
then  one  sees  everything  through  a  different  medium." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  would  tire  you  more  to  have  the  charge  of  Earl 
J)-?uglass  and  the  farm  upon  your  mind  ; — and  mother  could  be  ns 
help  to  you,  —nor  I,  if  I  am  at  the  mill." 

"  But  there's  Seta   Plumfield.     O   I've   thought   of  it  all.     You 
don't  know  what  1  am  up  to.  Mr.  Rossitur.     You  shall  see  how  I 
will  manage—unless  uncle   Rolf  comes  home,  in  which  case  I  will 
very  gladly  forego  all  my  honors  and  responsibilities  together." 
"  I  hope  he  will  come  !  "  said  Hugh. 

Bat  this  hope  was  to  be  disappointed.     Mr.  Rossitur  wrote  again 

ab-'-ut  the  first  of  March,   saying  that  he  hoped  to  make  something 

of  his    lands   in   Michigan,  and  that  he  had  the  prospect  of  being 

en^as^d  in  some  laud   agencies    which   would  make  it  worth   his 

r  to  spend  the  summer  there.     He  bade  his  wife  let  anybody 

•arm  that  could  manage  it  and  could  pay  ;  and  to  remit  to 


262 

Dr.    Gregory   whatever  she  should  receive  and  could  spare.     H« 
hoped  to  do  something  where  he  was. 

It  was  just  then  the  beginning  of  the  sugar  season  ;  and  Mrs. 
Douglass  having  renewed  and  urged  Earl's  offer  of  help,  Fleda 
sent  Philetus  down  to  ask  him  to  come  the  next  day  with  his  team. 
Seth  Plurntield's  which  had  drawn  the  wood  in  the  winter,  was  now 
busy  in  his  own  sugar  business.  On  Earl  Douglass* s  ground  there 
happened  to  be  no  maple  trees.  His  lands  were  of  modern  extent 
and  almost  entirely  cultivated  as  a  sheep  farm  ;  and  Mr.  Douglass 
himself  though  in  very  comfortable  circumstances  was  in  the 
habit  of  assisting,  on  advantageous  terms,  all  the  farmers  \n  the 
neighborhood. 

Philetus  came  back  again  in  a  remarkably  short  time  r  and  an 
nounced  that  he  had  met  Dr.  Quackenboss  in  the  way,  who  had 
offered  to  come  with  his  team  for  the  desired  service. 

"Then  you  have  not  been  to  Mr.  Douglass's?" 

"I  have  not,"  said  Philetus; — "I  thought  likely  you  wouldn  t 
calculate  to  want  him  teu." 

"  How  came  the  doctor  to  know  what  you  were  going  for?  " 

"  I  told  him." 

"  But  how  came  you  to  tell  him  ?  " 

"  Wall  I  guess  he  had  a  mind  to  know,"  said  Philetuj,  "  so  1 
didn't  keep  it  no  closer  than  I  had  teu." 

"  Well,"  said  Fleda  biting  her  lips,  "  you  will  have  to  go  down 
to  Mr.  Douglass's  nevertheless  Philetus,  and  tell  him  the  doctor  is 
coming  to-morrow  but  I  should  be  very  much  obliged  to  him  if  he 
will  be  here  next  day.  Will  you?  " 

"  Yes  marm  !  " 

"  Now  dear  Hugh,  will  you  make  me  those  little  spouts  for  thr 
trees  ! — of  some  dry  wood — you  can  get  plenty  out  here.  You 
want  to  split  them  up  with  a  hollow  chisel,  about  a  quarter  of  an 
inch  thick,  and  a  little  more  than  half  an  inch  broad.  Have  you 
got  a  hollow  chisel?  " 

"  No,  but  I  can  get  one  up  the  hill.     Why  must  it  be  hollow  ?  " 

"  To  make  little  spouts,  you  know, — for  the  sap  to  run  in.  And 
then,  my  dear  Hugh  !  they  must  be  sharpened  at  one  end  so  as  to 
fit  where  the  chisel  goes  in — I  am  afraid  I  have  given  you  a  day's 
work  of  it.  How  sorry  I  am  you  must  go  to-morrow  to  the  mill  !-— 
ind  yet  I  am  glad  too." 

"Why  need  you  go  round  yourself  with  these  people?"'  said 
Hugh.  "  I  don't  see  the  sense  of  it." 

"  They  don  t  know  where  the  trees  are,"  said  Fleda. 

"  I  am  sure  I  do  not.     Do  you  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  well.  And  besides,"  said  Fleda  laughing,  "  I  should 
have  great  doubts  of  the  discreetness  of  Philetus' s  auger  if  it  were 
left  to  his  simple  direction.  I  have  no  notion  the  trees  would  yield 
their  sap  as  kindly  to  him  a's  to  me.  But  I  didn't  bargain  for  Dr. 
Quackenboss." 

Dr.  Quackenboss  arrived  punctually  the  next  morning  with  his 
oxen  and  sled  ;  and  by  the  time  it  was  loaded  with  the  sap-troughs, 
Fleda  in  her  black  cloak,  yarn  shawl,  and  grey  little  hood  came 
out  of  the  house  to  the  wood-yard.  Earl  Douglass  was  there  too. 


QUEECHY.  263 

not  with  hi'.,  team,  but  merely  to  we  how  matters  ato»d  and  give  ad 
vice. 

"  Good  day,  Mr.  Douglass !  "  said  the  doctor.     "  Y«u  see  I'm  SG 

fortunate  as  to  have  got  the  start  of  you." 

"  V<,ry  good,"  said  Earl  contentedly, — "  you  may  have  it ; — the 
start'o  one  thing  and  the  pull's  another.  I'm  willin'  anybody 
should  have  the  start,  but  it  takes  a  pull  to  know  whether  a  man's 
got  stuff  in  him  or  no." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  the  doctor. 

"  I  don't  mean  nothin*  at  all.  You  make  a  start  to-day  and  II 
come  ahint  and  take  the  pull  to-morrow.  Ha*  you  got  anythin*  tc 
boil  down  in,  Fleda? — there's  a  potash  kittle  somewheres,  ain't 
th^re  ?  I  guess  there  is.  There  is  in  most  houses." 

"  There  is  a  large  kettle — I  suppose  large  enough,"  said  Fleda. 

"  That'll  do,  I  guess.  Well  what  do  you  calculate  to  put  the 
syrup  in  ? — ha'  you  got  a  good  big  cask,  or  plenty  o'  tubs  and 
that?  or  will  you  sugar  off  the  hull  lot  every  night  and  fix  it  that 
way?  You  must  do  one  thing  or  t'other,  and  it's  good  to  know 
what  you're  a  goin'  to  do  afore  you  come  to  do  it." 

"  I  don't  know,  Mr.  Douglass,"  said  Fleda; — "  whichever  is  the 
best  way — we  have  no  cask  large  enough,  I  am  afraid." 

"  Well  I  tell  you  what  I'll  do — I  know  where  there's  a  tub,  and 
where  they  ain't  usin'  it  nuther,  and  I  reckon  I  can  get  'em  to  let 
me  have  it — I  reckon  I  can — and  I'll  go  round  for't  and  fetch  it 
here  to-morrow  mornin'  when  I  come  with  the  team.  'Twon't  be 
much  out  of  my  way.  It's  more  handier  to  leave  the  sugarin'  off 
till  the  next  day  ;  and  it  had  ought  to  have  a  settlin'  besides. 
VVhere'll  you  have  your  fire  built  ? — in  doors  or  out  ?  " 

"  Out — I  would  rather,  if  we  can.     But  can  we?" 

"  La,  'tain't  nothin'  easier — it's  as  easy  out  as  in — all  you've  got 
to  do  is  to  take  and  roll  a  couple  of  pretty  sized  billets  for  your 
fireplace,  and  stick  a  couple  o'  crotched  sticks  for  to  hang  the 
kittle  over — I'd  as  lieve  have  it  out  as  in,  and  if  anythin'  a  leetle 
liever.  If  you'll  lend  me  Philetus  me  and  him'll  fix  it  all  ready 
agin  you  come  back — 'tain't  no  trouble  at  all — and  if  the  sticks 
ain't  here  we'll  go  into  the  woods  after  'em,  and  have  it  all  sot 
up." 

But  Fleda  represented  that  the  services  of  Philetus  were  jus- 
then  in  requisition,  and  that  there  would  be  no  sap  brought  home 
till  to-morrow. 

"Very  good!"  said  Earl  amicably, — "very  good!  it's  just  a< 
easy  done  one  day  as  another — it  don't  make  no  difference  to  me, 
and  if  it  makes  any  difference  to  you,  of  course  we'll  leave  it  to 
day,  and  there'll  be  time  enough  to  do  it  to-morrow  ;  me  and  him'll 
knock  it  up  in  a  whistle. — What's  them  little  shingles  for?" 

Fleda  explained  the  use  and  application  of  Hugh's  mimic  spouts, 
He  turned  one  about,  whistling,  while  he  listened  to  her. 

"That's  some  o'  Seth  Plumfield's  new  jigs,  ain't  it.  I  wonder  if 
he  thinks  now  the  sap's  a  goin  to  run  any  sweeter  out  o'  that  'ere 
than  it  would  off  the  end  of  a  chip  that  wa'n't  quite  so  hand 
some  !  " 

"  No,  Mr.  Douglass,"  said  Fleda  smiling, — "he  only  thinks  thau 
luis  will  catch  a  little  more." 


264  'QUEECHT. 

"  His  sugar  won't  never  tell  where  it  come  from,"  remarked 
Earl,  throwing  the  spout  down.  "  Well, — you  shall  see  more  o'  me 
to-morro\v.  Good-bye,  Dr.  Quackenboss  !  " 

"  Do  you  contemplate  the  refining  process?"  said  the  doctor,  as 
they  moved  off. 

"I  have  often  contemplated  the  want  of  it,"  said  Fleda  ,^'but 
it  is  best  not  to  try  to  do  too  much.  I  should  like  to  make  sure  of 
something  worth  refining  in  the  first  place." 

"Mr.  Douglass  and  I,"  said  the  doctor, — "I  hope — a — he's  a. 
»ery  good-hearted  man,  Miss  Fleda,  but,  ha  !  ha  ! — he  wouldn't 
suffer  loss  from  a  little  refining  himself. — Haw!  you  rascal — where 
are  you  going  !  Haw  !  I  tell  ye — " 

"•  I  am  very  sorry,  Dr.  Quackenboss,"  said  Fleda  when  she  had 
the  power  and  the  chance  to  speak  again, — "I  am  very  sorry  you 
should  have  to  take  this  trouble  ;  but  unfortunately  the  art  of 
driving  oxen  is  not  among  Mr.  Skillcorn's  accomplishments." 

"My  dear  Miss  Ringgan  !  "  said  the  doctor,  "I — I — nothing  I 
assure  you  could  give  me  greater  pleasure  than  to  drive  my  oxen 
to  any  place  where  you  would  like  to  have  them  go." 

Poor  Fleda  wished  she  could  have  dispatched  them  and  him  in 
one  direction  while  she  took  another  ;  the  art  of  driving  oxen 
quietly  was  certainly  not  among  the  doctor's  accomplishments.  She 
was  almost  deafened.  She  tried  to  escape  from  the  immediate  din 
by  running  before  to  show  Phileius  about  tapping  the  trees  and  fix 
ing  the  little  spouts,  but  it  was  a  longer  operation  than  she  had 
counted  upon,  and  by  the  time  they  were  ready  to  leave  the  tree 
the  doctor  was  gee-hawing  alongside  of  it  ;  and  then  if  the  next 
maple  was  hot  within  sight  she  could  not  in  decent  kindness  leave 
him  alone.  The  oxen  went  slowly,  and  though  Fleda  managed  to 
have  no  delay  longer  than  to  throw  clown  a  trough  as  the  sled  came 
up  with  each  tree  which  she  arrd  Philetus  had  tapped,  the  business 
promised  to  make  a  long  day  of  it.  It  might  have  been  a  pleasant 
day  in  pleasant  company  ;  but  Fleda's  spirits  were  down  to  set  out 
with  and  Dr.  Quackenboss  was  not  the  person  to  give  them  the 
needed  spring  ;  iiis  long-winded  complimentary  speeches  had  not 
interest  enough  even  to  divert  her.  She  felt  that  she  was  entering 
•->on  an  untried  and  most  weighty  undertaking  ;  charging  her 
;e  and  thoughts  with  a  burthen  they  could  well  spare.  Her  en- 
ics  did  not  flag,  but  the  spirit  that  should  have  sustained  them 
s  not  strong  enough  for  the  task. 

It  was  a  blustering  day  of  early  March  ;  with  that  uncompromis- 
.i)g  brightness  of  sky  and  land  which  has  no  shadow  of  sympathy 
with  a  heart  overcast.  The  snow  still  lay  a  foot  thick  over  the 
ground,  thawing  a  little  in  sunny  spots  ;  the  trees  quite  bare  and 
brown,  the  buds  even  of  the  early  maples  hardly  showing  color 
the  blessed  evergreens  alone  doing  their  utmost  to  redeem  the 
waste,  and  speaking  of  patience  and  fortitude  that  can  brave  the 
blast  and  outstand  the  long  waiting  and  cheerfully  bide  the  time 
when  "the  winter  shall  be  over  and  gone."  Poor  Fleda  thought 
they  were  like  her  in  their  circumstances,  but  she  feared  she  was 
not  like  them  in  their  strong  endurance.  She  looked  at  the  pines 
and  hemlocks  as  she  passed,  as  if  they  were  curious  preachers  to 
her  ;  and  when  she  had  a  chance  she  prayed  quietly  that  she  might 


QUEECKY.  265 

stand  faithfully  like  them  to  cheer  a  desolation  tar  worse  and  she 
feared  far  more  abiding  than  snows  could  make  or  melt  away.  J>he 
thought  of  Hugh,  alone  in  his  mill-work  thnt  rough  chilly  day, 
when  the  wind  stalked  through  the  woods  and  over  the  country  as 
if  it  had  been  the  personification  of  March  just  come  of  age  and 
taking  possession  of  his  domains.  She  thought  of  her  uncle,  doing 
what? — in  Michigan, — leaving  them  to  fight  with  difficulties  as  they 
might, — why? — why  ?  and  her  gentle  aunt  at  home  sad  and  alone, 
pining  for  the  want  of  them  all,  but  most  of  him,  and  fading  with 
their  fortunes.  And  Fleda's  thoughts  traveled  about  from  one  tc 
the  other  and  dwelt  with  them  all  by  turns  till  she  was  heart-sick; 
and  tears,  tears,  fell  hot  on  the  snow  many  a  time  when  her  eyes 
had  a  moment's  shield  from  the  doctor  and  his  somewhat  more  ob 
tuse  coadjutor.  She  felt  half  superstitiously  as  if  with  her  taking 
the  farm  were  beginning  the  last  stage  of  their  falling  prospects, 
which  would  leave  them  with  none  of  hope's  coloring.  Now  that 
in  the  least  she  doubted  her  own  ability  and  success ;  but  her  uncle 
did  not  deserve  to  have  his  affairs  prosper  under  such  a  system  and 
sae  had  no  faith  that  they  would. 

"It  is  most  grateful,"  said  the  doctor  with  that  side  way  twist  of 
his  jaw  and  his  head  at  once,  in  harmony, — "  it  is  a  most  grateful 
thing  to  see  such  a  young  lady — Haw  !  there  now  ! — what  are  you 
about  ?  haw, — haw  then  ! — It  is  a  most  grateful  thing  to  see  " — 

But  Fleda  was  not  at  his  side  ;  she  had  bounded  away  and  was 
standing  under  a  great  maple  tree  a  little  ahead,  making  sure  that 
Philetus  screwed  his  auger  up  into  the  tree  instead  of  down,  which 
he  had  several  times  showed  an  unreasonable  desire  to  do.  The 
doctor  had  steered  his  oxen  by  her  little  grey  hood  and  black  cloak 
all  the  day.  He  made  for  it  now. 

"  Have  we  arrived  at  the  termination  of  our — a — adventure?" 
said  he  as  he  came  up  and  threw  down  the  last  trough. 

••  Why  no,  sir,"  said  Fleda,  "  for  we  have  yet  to  get  home 
again." 

"  'Tain't  so  fur  going  that  way  as  it  were  this'n,"  said  Philetus. 
••  My  !  ain't  I  glad." 

"Glad  of  what?"  said  the  doctor.  "Here's  Miss  Ringgan's 
walked  the  whole  way,  and  she  a  lady — ain't  you  ashamed  to  speak 
of  being  tired?" 

"  1  ha'n't  said  the  first  word  o1  being  tired  !  "  said  Philetus  in  an 
Injured  tone  of  voice, — "  but  a  man  ha'n't  no  right  to  kill  hisself,  ii 
he  ain't  a  gal !  " 

"  I'll  qualify  to  your  being  safe  enough,"  said  the  doctor.  "  But 
Miss  Ringgan,  my  dear,  you  are — a — you  have  lost  something  since 
you  came  out — " 

"  What  ?  "  said  Fleda  laughing.     "  Not  my  patience  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  doctor,  "  no, — you're — a — you're  an  angel !  but 
your  cheeks,  my  dear  Miss  Ringgan,  show  that  you  have  exceeded 
your— a — " 

"Not  my  intentions,  doctor,"  said  Fleda  lightly.  "I  am  very 
well  satisfied  with  our  day's  work,  and  with  my  share  of  it,  and  a 
cup  of  coffee  will  make  me  quite  up  again.  Don't  look  at  my  cheeks 
till  then." 

*'  I  shall  disobey  you  constantly,"  said  the  doctor  ; — "  but,  my 


866 

dear  Miss  Fleda,  we  must  give  you  some  felicities  for  reaching 
home,  or  Mrs.  Rossitur  will  be — a — distressed  \vh«n  she  sees  them. 
Might  I  propose — that  you  should  just  bear  your  weight  on  this 
wood  sled  and  let  my  oxen  and  me  have  the  honor — The  cup  of 
coffee,  I  am  confident,  would  be  at  your  lips  considerably  earlier — '* 

"  The  sun  won't  be  a  great  haighth  by  the  time  we  get  there," 
said  Philetus  in  a  cynical  manner  ;  "  and  I  ha' n't  took  the  first 
thing  to-day  !  " 

"Well  who  has?"  said  the  doctor;  "yon  ain't  the  only  one. 
Follow  your  nose  down  hill,  Mr.  Skillcorn,  and  it'll  smell  supper 
directly.  Now,  my  dear  Miss  Ringgan  ! — will  you  ?  " 

Fleda  hesitated,  but  her  relaxed  energies  warned  her  not  to  de 
spise  a  homely  mode  of  relief.  The  wood-sled  was  pretty  clean, 
and  the  road  decently  good  over  the  snow.  So  Fleda  gathered 
her  cloak  about  her  and  sat  down  flat  on  the  bottom  of  her  rustic 
vehicle  ;  too  grateful  for  the  rest  to  care  if  there  had  been  a  dozen 
people  to  laugh  at  her  ;  but  the  doctor  was  only  delighted,  and 
Philetus  regarded  every  social  phenomenon  as  coolly  and  in  the 
same  business  light  as  he  would  the  butter  to  his  bread,  or  any 
other  infallible  every-day  matter. 

Fleda  was  very  glad  presently  that  she  had  taken  this  plan, 
for  besides  the  rest  of  body  she  was  happily  relieved  from  alV 
necessity  of  speaking.  The  doctor  though  but  a  few  paces  off 
•was  perfectly  given  up  to  the  care  of  his  team,  in  the  intense 
anxiety  to  show  his  skill  and  gallantry  in  saving  her  harmless 
from  every  ugly  place  in  the  road  that  threatened  a  jar  or  a 
plunge.  Why  his  oxen  didn't  go  distracted  was  a  question  ;  but 
the  very  vehemence  and  iteration  of  his  cries  at  last  drowned  itself 
in  Fleda's  ear  and  she  could  hear  it  like  the  wind's  roaring,  with 
out  thinking  of  it.  She  presently  subsided  to  that.  With  a  weary 
frame,  and  with  that  peculiar  quietness  of  spirits  that  comes  upon 
the  ending  of  a  day's  work  in  which  mind  and  body  have  both 
been  busily  engaged,  and  the  sudden  ceasing  of  any  call  upon 
either,  fancy  asked  no  leave  and  dreamily  roved  hither  and  thither 
between  the  material  and  the  spirit  world  ;  the  will  too  subdued  to 
stir.  Days  gone  by  came  marshalling  their  scenes  and  their  actors 
before  her  ;  again  she  saw  herself  a  little  child  under  those  same 
trees  that  stretched  their  great  black  arms  over  her  head  and  sway 
ing  their  tops  in  the  wind  seemed  to  beckon  her  back  to  the  past. 
They  talked  of  their  old  owner,  whose  steps  had  so  often  passed  be 
neath  them  with  her  own  light  tread, — light  now,  but  how  dancing 
then ! — by  his  side  ;  and  of  her  father,  whose  hand  perhaps  had 
long  ago  tapped  those  very  trees  where  she  had  noticed  the  old 
closed-up  scars  of  the  axe.  At  any  rate  his  boyhood  had  rejoiced 
there,  and  she  could  look  back  to  one  time  at  least  in  his  man 
hood  when  she  had  taken  a  pleasant  walk  with  him  in  summer 
weather  among  those  same  woods,  in  that  very  ox-track  she  be 
lieved.  Gone — two  generations  that  she  had  known  there  ;  hopes 
and  fears  and  disappointments,  akin  to  her  own,  at  rest, — as  hers 
would  be  ;  and  how  sedately  the  old  trees  stood  telling  her  of  it, 
and  waving  their  arms  in  grave  and  gentle  commenting  on  the 
folly  of  anxieties  that  came  and  went  with  the  wind.  Fleda  agreed 
to  it  all ;  she  heard  all  they  said  ;  and  her  own  spirit  was  as  sobei 


QUEECHY.  267 

and  quiet  as  their  quaint  moralizing.     She  felt  as  if  it  would  never 
dance  again. 

The  wind  had  greatly  abated  of  its  violence  ;  as  if  satisfied  with 
the  show  of  strength  it  had  given  in  the  morning  it  seemed  willing 
to  make  no  more  commotion  that  day.  The  sun  was  far  on  his  way 
to  the  horizon,  and  many  a  broad  hill-side  slope  was  in  shadow  ;  the 
snow  had  blown  or  melted  from  off  the  stones  and  rocks  leaving 
all  their  roughness  and  bareness  unveiled  ;  and  the  white  crust  of 
snow  that  lay  between  them  looked  a  cheerless  waste  in  the  shade 
of  the  wood  and  the  hill.  But  there  were  other  spots  where  the 
sunbeams  struck  and  bright  streams  of  light  ran  between  the  treest 
smiling  and  making  them  smile.  And  as  Fleda's  eye  rested  there 
another  voice  seemed  to  say,  "  At  evening-time  it  shall  be  light,"—  • 
and  "  Sorrow  may  endure  for  a  night,  but  joy  cometh  in  the  morn* 
ing."  She  could  have  cried,  but  spirits  were  too  absolutely  at  an 
ebb.  She  knew  this  was  partly  physical,  because  she  was  tired  and 
faint,  but  it  could  not  the  better  be  overcome.  Yet  those  streaks  of 
sunlight  were  pleasant  company,  and  Fleda  watched  them,  thinking 
how  bright  they  used  to  be  once  ;  till  the  oxen  and  sled  came  out 
from  the  woods,  and  she  could  see  the  evening  colors  on  the  hill 
tops  beyond  the  village,  lighting  up  the  whole  landscape  with  prom 
ise  of  the  morrow.  She  thought  her  day  had  seen  its  brightest  ;  but 
she  thought  too  that  if  she  must  know  sorrows  it  was  a  very  great 
blessing  to  know  them  at  Queechy. 

The  smoke  of  the  chimney-tops  came  in  sight,  and  fancy  went 
home, — a  few  minutes  before  her. 

"  I  wonder  what  you'll  take  and  do  to  yourself  next !  "  said  Barby 
\n  extreme  vexation  when  she  saw  her  come  in.  "You're  as  white 
is  the  wall, — and  as  cold,  ain't  you?  I'd  ha'  let  Philetus  cut  all 
the  trees  and  drink  all  the  sap  afterward.  I  wonder  which  you 
think  is  the  worst,  the  want  o1  you  or  the  want  o'  sugar." 

A  day's  headache  was  pretty  sure  to  visit  Fleda  after  any  over- 
exertion  or  exhaustion,  and  the  next  day  justified  Barby's  feara 
She  was  the  quiet  prisoner  of  pain.  But  Earl  Douglass  and  Mr. 
Skillcorn  could  now  do  without  her  in  the  woods  ;  and  her  own  part 
of  the  trouble  Fleda  always  took  with  speechless  patience.  She  had 
the  mixed  comfort  that  love  could  bestow  ;  Hugh's  sorrowful  kiss 
and  look  before  setting  off  for  the  mill,  Mrs.  Rossitur's  caressing 
"are,  and  Barby's  softened  voice,  and  sympathizing  hand  on  her 
•orow,  and  hearty  heart-speaking  kiss  and  poor  little  King  lay  ali 
day  with  his  head  in  her  lap,  casting  grave  wistful  glances  up  at  his 
mistress's  face  and  licking  her  hand  with  intense  affection  when 
even  in  her  distress  it  stole  to  his  head  to  reward  and  comfort  him. 
He  never  would  budge  from  her  side,  or  her  feet,  till  she  could 
move  herself  and  he  knew  that  she  was  well.  As  sure  as  King 
came  trotting  into  the  kitchen  Barby  used  to  look  into  the  other 
room  and  say,  "  So  you're  better,  ain't  you,  Fleda?  I  knowed  it !  " 

After  hours  of  suffering  the  fit  was  at  last  over  ;  and  in  the  even 
ing,  though  looking  and  feeling  racked,  Fleda  would  go  out  to  s^< 
the  sap-boilers.  Earl  Douglass  and  Philetus  had  had  a  very  «:«  ;i 
day  of  it,  and  now  were  in  full  blast  with  the  evening  part 'of  \:-.e 
work  The  weather  was  mild,  and  having  the  stay  of  Hugh's  arm 
Fleda  grew  too  amused  to  l«ave  them. 


268  QUEECHT. 

It  was  a  very  pretty  scene.  The  sap-boilers  had  planted  them« 
selves  near  the  cellar  door  on  the  other  side  of  the  house  from 
the  kitchen  door  and  the  wood-yard  ;  the  casks  and  tubs  for  syrup 
being  under  cover  there  ;  and  there  they  had  made  a  most  pic 
turesque  work-place.  Two  strong  crotched  sticks  were  stuck  in 
the  ground  some  six  or  eight  feet  apart,  and  a  pole  laid  upon  them, 
to  which  by  the  help  of  some  very  rustic  hooks  two  enormous  iron 
kettles  were  slung.  Under  them  a  fine  fire  of  smallish  split  sticks 
was  doing  duty,  kept  in  order  by  a  couple  of  huge  logs  which 
^  ailed  it  in  on  the  one  side  and  on  the  other.  It  was  a  dark 
night,  and  the  fire  painted  all  this  in  strong  lights  and  shadows  ; 
jbrew  a  faint  fading  Aurora-like  light  over  the  snow,  beyond  the 
shade  of  its  log  barriers  ;  glimmered  by  turns  upon  the  paling  of 
the  garden  fence,  whenever  the  dark  figures  that  were  passing 
and  repassing  between  gave  it  a  chance  ;  and  invested  the  cellar- 
opening  and  the  outstanding  corner  of  the  house  with  striking  and 
unwonted  dignity,  in  a  light  that  revealed  nothing  except  to  the 
imagination.  Nothing  was  more  fancifully  dignified  or  more 
quaintly  travestied  by  that  light  than  the  figures  around  it,  busy 
and  flitting  about  and  showing  themselves  in  every  novel  variety 
of  grouping  and  coloring.  There  was  Earl  Douglass,  not  a  hair 
different  from  what  he  was  every  day  in  reality,  but  with  his  dark 
skin  and  eyes,  and  a  hat  that  like  its  master  had  concluded  to  ab 
jure  all  fashions  and  perhaps  for  the  same  reason,  he  looked  now 
like  any  bandit  and  now  in  a  more  pacific  view  could  pa:s  for 
nothing  less  than  a  Spanish  shepherd  at  least,  with  an  iron  ladle 
in  lieu  of  crook.  There  was  Dr.  Quackenboss,  who  had  come 
too,  determined  as  Earl  said,  "to  keep  his  eend  up,"  excessively 
bland  and  busy  and  important,  the  fire  would  throw  his  one-sided  - 
ness  of  feature  into  such  aspects  of  gravity  or  sternness  that  Fleda 
could  make  nothing  of  him  but  a  poor  clergyman  or  a  poor  school 
master  alternately.  Philetus,  who  was  kept  handing  about  a  bucket 
of  sap  or  trudging  off  for  wood,  defied  all  comparison  ;  he  was  Phi 
letus  still  ;  but  when  Barby  came  once  or  twice  and  peered  into  the 
kettle  her  strong  features  with  the  handkerchief  she  always  wore 
about  her  head  were  lit  up  into  a  very  handsome  gypsy.  Fleda 
stood  some  time  unseen  in  the  shadow  of  the  house  to  enjoy  the 
s  giit,  and  then  went  forward  on  the  same  principle  that  a  sovereign 
princess  shows  herself  to  her  army,  to  grace  and  reward  the  labors 
}f  her  servants.  The  doctor  was  profuse  in  enquiries  afterjher 
.leilth  and  Earl  informed  her  of  the  success  of  the  day. 

"  We've  had  first-rate  weather,"  he  said  ; — "  1  don't  want  to  see 
no  better  weather  for  sugar-makin '  ;  it's  as  good  kind  o'  weather  as 
you  need  to  have.  It  friz  every  thin*  up  tight  in  the  night,  and  it 
thaw  in  the  sun  this  mornin1  as  soon  at  the  sun  was  anywhere  ;  the 
trees  couldn't  do  no  better  than  they  have  done.  I  guess  we  ha'n't 
got  much  this  side  <>'  two  hundred  gallon — I  ain't  sure  about  it,  but 
that's  what  I  thirl:  :  I'll  qualify  to  better  than  a  hundred  and  fifty, 
or  a  hundred  and  sixtv  either.  We  should  ha*  had  more  yet  if  Mr. 
Skillcorn  hadn't  'unnaged  to  spill  over  one  cask  of  it— I  reckon  he 
wanted  it  for  sass  101  his  chicken." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Douglass  !  " — said  Philetus,  in  a  comical  tone  of  dep 
recation. 


QUEECHY.  9«9 

"It  is  an  uncommonly  fine  lot  of  sugar  trees,"  said  the  doctor, 
«'  and  they  stand  so  on  the  ground  as  to  give  great  felicities  to  the 
oxen." 

"Now  Fleda,"  Earl  went  on,  busy  all  the  while  with  his  iron 
ladle  in  dipping  the  boiling  sap  from  one  kettle  into  the  other, — 
"  you  know  how  this  is  fixed  when  we've  done  all  we've  got  to  do 
with  it? — it  must  be  strained  out  o'  this  biler  into  a  cask  or  a  tub  of 
somethin'  'nother, — anythin'  that'll  hold  it,— and  stand  a  day  or  so  ; 
-you  may  strain  it  through  a  cotton  cloth,  or  through  a  woollen 
cloth,  or  through  any  kind  of  a  cloth  ! — and  let  it  stand  to  settle  : 
and  then  when  it's  biled  down — Barby  knows  about  bilin'  down — 
you  can  tell  when  it's  comin*  to  the  sugar  when  the  yellow  blobbers 
rises  thick  to  the  top  and  puffs  off,  and  then  it's  time  to  try  it  in  cold 
water, — it's  best  to  be  a  leetle  the  right  side  o'  the  sugar  and  stop 
afore  it's  done  too  much,  for  the  molasses  will  dreen  off  after 
ward — ' ' 

"  It  must  be  clarified  in  the  commencement,"  put  in  the  doctor. 

"O'  course  it  must  be  clarified,"  said  Earl, — "Barby  knows 
about  clarifyin' — that's  when  you  first  put  it  on — you  had  ought  to 
throw  in  a  teeny  drop  o'  milk  fur  to  clear  it, — milk's  as  good  as 
a' most  anything, — or  if  you  can  get  it  calf's  blood's  better  " 

"  Eggs  would  be  a  more  preferable  ingredient  on  the  present  oc 
casion,  I  presume,"  said  the  doctor.  '•  Miss  Ringgan's  delicacy 
would  be — a — would  shrink  from — a — and  the  albumen  of  eggs  will 
answer  all  the  same  purpose." 

"Well  anyhow  you  like  to  fix  it,"  said  Earl, — "eggs  or  calf 's 
blood — I  won't  quarrel  with  you  about  the  eggs,  though  I  never 
heerd  o'  blue  ones  afore,  'cept  the  robin's  and  bluebird's—and 
I've  heercj  say  the  swamp  black  bird  lays  a  handsome  blue  egg, 
but  I  never  happened  to  see-  the  nest  myself; — and  there's  the 
chippin*  sparrow, — but  you'd  want  to  rob  all  the  bird's  nests  in 
creation  to  get  enough  of  'em,  and  they  ain't  here  in  sugar  time 
nother  ;  but  anyhow  any  eggs  'U  do  I  s'pose  if  you  can  get  'em — 
or  milk  '11  do  if  you  ha'n't  nothin'  else — and  after  it  it  is  turned 
out  into  the  barrel  you  just  let  it  stand  still  a  spell  till  it  begins 
to  grain  and  look  clean  on  top  " — 

"May  I  suggest  an  improvement?"  said  the  doctor.       "Many 

i-rsons  are  of  the  opinion  that  if  you  take  and  stir  it  up  well  from 

Ue  bottom  for  a  length  of  time  it  will  help  the  coagulation  of  the 

particles.      I   believe   that   is  the   practice   of  Mr.  Plumfield  and 

others." 

"  'Taint  the  practice  of  as  good  men  as  him  and  as  good  sugar- 
bilers  besides,"  said  Earl  ;  "though  I  don't  mean  to  say  nothin' 
agin  Seth  Plumfield  nor  agin  his  sugar,  for  the  both  is  as  good  as 
you'd  need  to  have  ;  he's  a  good  man  and  he's  a  good  farmer — 
there  ain't  no  better  man  in  town  than  Seth  Plumfield,  nor  no  better 
farmer,  nor  no  better  sugar  nother  ;  but  I  hope  there' sas  good  ;  and 
I've  seen  as  handsome  sugar  that  wa'n't  stirred  as  I'd  want  to  see 
or  cat  either." 

"  It  would  lame  a  man's  arms  the  worst  kind  !  "  said  Philetus. 

Fleda  stood  listening  to  the  discussion  and  smiling,  when  Hugh 
suddenly  wheeling  about  brought  her  face  to  face  \vith  Mr  Oimney. 

"  I  have  beer*  sitting  sowetinie  \vit1i  Mrs   Rossi? ur,"  he  said    '*  and 


270  QUEECHY. 

she  rewarded  me  the  permission  to  come  and  look  at  you.    I  meafc  f 
— not  that  I  wanted  a  reward,  for  I  certainly  did  not — " 

"  Ah  Mr.  Olmney  !  "  said  Fleda  laughing,  "  you  are  served  right 
You  see  how  dangerous  it  is  to  meddle  with  such  equivocal  things 
as  compliments.  But  we  are  worth  looking  at,  aren't  we  ?  I  have 
been  standing  here  this  half  hour." 

He  did  not  say  this  time  what  he  thought. 

"  Pretty,  isn't  it  ?  "  said  Fleda.  "  Stand  a  little  further  back  Mr, 
Olmney — isn't  it  quite  a  wild-looking  scene,  in  that  peculiar  light 
and  with  the  snowy  background?  Look  at  Philetus  now  with  that 
bundle  of  sticks — Hugh  !  isn't  he  exactly  like  some  of  the  figures  in 
the  old  pictures  of  the  martyrdoms,  bringing  billets  to  feed  the  fire  ? 
— that  old  martyrdom  of  St.  Lawrence — whose  was  it — Spagnoletto  ! 
— at  Mrs.  Decatur's — don't  you  recollect?  It  is  fine,  isn't  it,  Mr. 
Olmney?  " 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  he  shaking  his  head  a  little,  "  my  eye  wants 
training.  I  have  not  been  once  in  your  company  I  believe  without 
your  showing  me  something  I  could  not  see." 

"That  young  lady,  sir,"  said  Dr.  Quackenboss  from  the  far  side 
of  the  fire,  where  he  was  busy  giving  it  more  wood, — "that  young 
lady,  sir,  is  a  pattron  to  her — a — to  all  young  ladies." 

"  A  patron  !  "  said  Mr.  Olmney. 

"  Passively,  not  actively,  the  doctor  means,"  said  Fleda  softly. 

"  Well  I  won't  say  but  she's  a  good  girl,"  said  Mr.  Douglass  in 
an  abstracted  manner,  busy  with  his  iron  ladle, — "  she  means  to  be 
a  good  girl — she's  as  clever  a  girl  as  you  need  to  have  !  " 

Nobody's  gravity  stood  this,  excepting  Philetus,  in  whom  the 
principle  of  fun  seemed  not  to  be  dveloped. 

"  Miss  Ringgan,  sir,"  Dr.  Quackenboss  went  on  with  a  most  be 
nign  expression  of  countenance, — "Miss  Ringgan,  sir,  Mr.  Olmney, 
sets  an  example  to  all  ladies  who — a — have  had  elegant  advantages. 
She  gives  her  patronage  to  the  agricultural  interest  to  society." 

"  Not  exclusively,  I  hope  ?  "  said  Mr.  Olmney  smiling,  and  mak 
ing  the  question  with  his  eye  of  Fleda.  But  she  did  not  meet  it. 

'•'  You  know,"  she  said  rather  quickly,  and  drawing  back  from 
the  fire,  "I  am  of  an  agricultural  turn  perforce — in  uncle  Rolf's  ab 
sence  I  am  going  to  be  a  farmer  myself." 

"  So  I  have  heard — so  Mrs.  Rossitur  told  me, — but  I  fear — par 
don  me — you  do  not  look  fit  to  grapple  with  such  a  burden  of  care.' 

Hugh  sighed,  and  Fleda's  eyes  gave  Mr.  Olmney  a  hint  to  be 
silent. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  grapple  with  any  thing,  sir  ;  I  intend  to 
take  things  easily." 

"  I  wish  I  could  take  an  agricultural  turn  too,"  said  he  smiling, 
"  and  be  of  some  service  to  you." 

"O  I  shall  have  no  lack  of  service,"  said  Fleda  gayly  ; — "  I  am 
not  going  unprovided  into  the  business.  There  is  my  cousin  Seth 
Plumfleld,  who  has  engaged  himself  to  be  my  counsellor  and  in 
structor  in  general ;  I  could  not  have  a  better  ;  and  Mr.  Douglass 
is  to  be  my  right  hand  ;  I  occupying  only  the  quiet  and  unassum 
ing  post  of  the  will,  to  convey  the  orders  of  the  head  to  the  hand. 
And  for  the  rest,  sir,  there  is  Philetus  !  " 

Mr.  Olmney  looked,  half  laughing,  at  Mr.  Skillcorn.  who  was  at 


271 

that  vnoment  standing  with   his  hands  on  his  sides,  eying  with  con- 
cenhated  gravity  the  movements  of  Earl  Douglass  and  the  doctor, 

"Don't  shake  your  head  at  him!"  said  Fleda.  "  I  wish  you 
had  come  an  hour  earlier,  Mr.  Olmney." 

-Why?" 

Jl  I  was  just  thinking  of  coming  out  here,"  said  Fledae  her  eyes 
flashing  with  hidden  fun, — "and  Hugh  and  I  were  both  standing 
in  the  kitchen,  when  we  heard  a  tremendous  shout  from  the  wood- 
yard.  Don't  laugh,  or  I  can't  go  on.  We  all  ran  out,  toward  the 
lantern  which  we  saw  standing  there,  and  so  soon  as  we  got  neat 
^e  heard  Philetus  singing  out,  '  Ho  Miss  Elster ! — I'm  dreadfully 
Mi't!  ' — Why  he  called  upon  Barby  I  don't  know,  unless  from  some 
notion  of  her  general  efficiency,  though  to  be  sure  he  was  nearer 
her  than  the  sap-boilers  and  perhaps  thought  her  aid  would  come 
quickest.  And  he  was  in  a  hurry,  for  the  cries  came  thick, — '  Miss 
Elster  ! — here  ! — I'm  dreadfully  on't' — " 

"  I 'don't  understand — " 

"  No,"  said  Fleda,  whose  amusement  seemed  to  be  increased 
oy  the  gentleman's  want  of  understanding, — "  and  neither  did  we 
till  we  came  up  to  him.  Xhe  silly  fellow  had  been  sent  up  for  more 
wood,  and  splitting  a  log  he  had  put  his  hand  in  to  keep  the  cleft, 
instead  of  a  wedge,  and  when  he  took  out  the  axe  the  wood  pinched 
him  ;  and  he  had  the  fate  of  Milo  before  his  eyes,  I  suppose,  am 
could  do  nothing  but  roar.  You  should  have  seen  the  supreme  in 
dignation  with  which  Barby  took  the  axe  and  release  him  with 
4  You're  a  smart  man,  Mr.  Skillcorn  !  '  " — 

"What  was  the  fate  of  Milo?"  said  Mr.  Olmney  presently. 

"  Don't  you  remember, — the  famous  wrestler  that  in  his  old  age 
trying  to  break  open  a  tree  found  himself  not  strong  enough  ; 
and  the  wood  closing  upon  his  hands  held  him  fast  till  the  wild 
beasts  came  and  made  an  end  of  him.  The  figure  of  our  un 
fortunate  wood-cutter  though,  was  hardly  so  dignified  as  that  of 
the  old  athlete  in  the  statue. — Dr.  Quackenboss,  and  Mr.  Doug 
lass, — you  will  come  in  and  see  us  when  this  troublesome  business 
is  done  ?  " 

"  It'll  be  a  pretty  spell  yet,"  said  Earl  ; — "  but  the  doctor,  he  can 
go  in, — he  ha'n't  nothin*  to  do.  It  don't  take  more'n  half  a  dozen 
Tien  to  keep  one  pot  a  bilin'." 

47  Ain't  there  teu  on  'em,  Mr.  Douglass  ?"  said  Philetus. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

He  that  has  light  within  his  own  clear  breast, 
May  sit  i'  the  centre  and  enjoy  bright  day. 

MILTON. 

THE  farming  plan  succeeded  beyond  Fleda' s  hopes  ;  thanks 
not  more  to  her  wisdom  than  to  the  nice  tact  with  which  the  wis 
dom  was  brought  into  play.  The  one  was  eked  out  with  Seth 
Plumfield's  ;  the  other  was  all  her  own.  Seth  was  indefatigably 
kind  and  faithful.  After  his  own  days's  work  was  done  he  used  to 
walk  down  to  see  Fleda,  go  with  her  often  to  view  the  particular 
field  or  work  just  then  in  question,  and  give  her  the  best  counsel 


272 

dictated  by  great  sagacity  and  great  experience.  It  was  give* 
too  with  equal  frankness  and  intelligence,  so  that  Fleda  knew  the 
steps  she  took  and  could  maintain  them  against  the  prejudice  or 
the  ignorance  of  her  subordinates.  But  Fleda's  delicate  handling 
stood  tier  yet  more  in  stead  than  her  strength.  Earl  Douglass 
was  sometimes  unmanageable,  and  held  out  in  favor  of  an  old 
custom  or  a  prevailing  opinion  in  spite  of  all  the  weight  of  testi 
mony  and  light  of  discovery  that  could  be  brought  to  bear  upon 
him.  Fleda  would  let  the  thing  go.  But  seizing  her  opportunity 
another  time  she  would  ask  him  to  try  the  experiment,  on  a  piece 
of  the  ground  ;  so  pleasantly  and  skilful y  that  Earl  could  do  noth< 
ing  but  shut  his  mouth  and  obey,  like  an  animal  fairly  stroked  intc 
good-humor.  And  as  Fleda  always  forgot  to  remind  him  that  sho 
had  been  right  and  he  wrong,  he  forgot  it  too,  and  presently  took 
to  the  new  way  kindly.  In  other  matters  he  could  be  depended 
on,  and  the  seed-time  and  harvest  prospered  well.  There  was 
hope  of  making  a  good  payment  to  Dr.  Gregory  in  the  course  of 
a  few  months. 

As  the  spring  came  forward  Fleda  took  care  that  her  garden 
should, — both  gardens  indeed.  There  she  and  Philetus  had  the 
game  in  their  own  hands,  and  beautifully  it  wan  managed.  Hugh 
had  full  occupation  at  the  mill.  Many  a  doliai  this  summer  was 
earned  by  the  loads  of  fine  fruit  and  vegetables  which  Philetus 
carried  to  Montepoole  ;  and  accident  opened  a  new  source  of 
revenue.  When  the  courtyard  was  in  the  full  blase  of  its  beauty, 
one  day  an  admiring  passer-by  modestly  friquired  if  a  few  of  those 
exquisite  flowers  might  be  had  for  money.  They  were  given  him 
most  cheerfully  that  time  ;  but  the  demand  returned,  accompanied 
by  the  offer,  and  Fleda  obliged  herself  not  to  decline  it.  A  trial 
it  was,  to  cut  her  roses  and  jessamines  for  anything  but  her  own  or 
her  friends'  pleasure,  but  according  to  custom  she  bore  it  without 
hesitation.  The  place  became  a  resort  for  all  the  flower  lovers 
who  happened  to  be  staying  at  the  Pool  ;  and  rose-leaves  were 
changed  into  silver  pennies  as  fast  as  in  a  fairy-tale. 
— But  the  delicate  mainspring  that  kept  all  this  machinery  in  order 
suffered  from  too  severe  a  strain.  There  was  too  much  running, 
too  much  considering,  too  much  watchfulness.  In  the  garden 
pulling  peas  and  seeing  that  Philetus  weeded  the  carrots  right,— in  the 
field  or  the  woodyard  consulting  and  arranging  of  may  be  debating 
vrith  Earl  Douglass,  who  acquired  by  degrees  an  unwonted  and  cor 
centrated  respect  for  womankind  in  her  proper  person  ;  breakfast  wait 
ing  for  her  often  before  she  came  in  ; — in  the  hous~  her  old  house 
wifery  concerns,  her  share  in  Barby's  cases  or  dicfhulties,  her  sweet 
countenancing  and  cheering  of  her  aunt,  her  dinner,  her  work  ; — 
then  when  evening  came,  budding  her  roses  or  tying  her  carna 
tions  or  weeding  or  raking  the  ground  between  them,  (where 
Philetus  could  do  nothing.)  or  training  her  multiflora  and  sweet- 
briar  branches; — and  then  often  after  all,  walking  up  to  the  mill 
to  give  Hugh  a  little  earlier  a  home  smile  and  make  hi?  way  down 
pleasant.  No  wonder  if  the  energies  which  owed  much  of  their 
strength  to  love's  nerving,  should  at  last  give  out,  and  Fleda's 
evening  be  passed  in  wearied  slumbers.  No  wonder  if  many  a 
day  was  given  up  to  the  forced  quietude  of  a  headache,  the  more 


QVEECHY.  273 

grievous  to  Fleda  because  she  knew  that  her  aunt  and  Hugtt  always 
found  the  day  dark  that  was  not  lightened  by  her  sunbeam.  How 
brightly  it  shone  out  the  moment  the  cloud  of  pain  was  removed, 
winning  the  shadow  from  their  faces  and  a  smile  to  their  lips,  though 
solitude  always  saw  her  own  settle  into  a  gravity  as  fixed  as  it  was 
soft. 

"You  have  been  doing  too  much,  Fleda,"  said  Mrs.  Rossiturone 
morning  when  she  came  in  from  the  garden. 

"  I  didn't  know  it  would  take  me  so  long,"  said  Fleda  drawing 
a  long  breath  ;— "  but  I  couldn't  help  it  I  had  those  celery  plant'. 
So  prick  out, — and  then  I  was  helping  Philetus  to  plant  another 
patch  of  corn." 

"  He  might  have  done  that  without  help  I  should  think." 

"  But  it  must  be  put  in  to-day,  and  he  had  other  things  to  do." 

"  And  then  you  were  at  your  flowers? — " 

'*  O  well! — budding  a  few  roses — that's  only  play.  It  was  time 
they  were  done.  But  I  am  tired  ;  and  I  am  going  up  to  see  Hugh 
— it  will  rest  me  and  him  too." 

The  gardening  frock  and  gloves  were  exchanged  for  thos€ 
of  ordinary  wear,  and  Fleda  set  off  slowly  to  go  up  to  the  saw 
mill. 

She  stopped  a  moment  when  she  came  upon  the  bridge,  to  look 
off  to  the  right  where  the  waters  of  the  little  run  came  hurrying 
along  through  a  narrow  wooden  chasm  in  the  hill,  murmuring  to 
her  of  the  time  when  a  little  child's  feet  had  paused  there  and  a 
child's  heart  danced  to  its  music.  The  freshness  of  its  song  wal 
unchanged,  the  glad  rush  of  its  waters  was  as  joyous  as  ever,  buC 
the  spirits  were  quieted  that  used  to  answer  it  with  sweeter  fresh nesf 
and  lighter  joyousness.  Its  faint  echo  of  the  old-time  laugh  wa? 
blended  now  in  Fleda's  ear  with  a  gentle  wail  for  the  rushing  days 
and  swifter  fleeing  delights  of  human  life  ; — gentle,  faint,  but  clear, 
— she  could  hear  it  very  well.  Taking  up  her  walk  again  with  a 
step  yet  slower  and  a  brow  yet  more  quiet,  she  went  on  till  sht 
\:ame  in  sight  of  the  little  mill  ;  and  presently  above  the  noise  of 
the  brook  could  hear  .the  saw  going.  To  her  childish  ears  what  2 
signal  of  pleasure  that  had  always  been  ;  and  now, — she  sighed, 
and  stopping  at  a  little  distance  looked  for  Hugh.  He  was  there  r 
she  saw  him  in  a  moment  going  forward  to  stop  the  machinery,  ths 
piece  of  timber  in  hand  having  walked  its  utmost  length  up  to  the 
Saw  ;  she  saw  him  throwing  aside  the  new-cut  board,  and  adjusting 
Jvhat  was  left  till  it  was  ready  for  another  march  up  to  head- 
quarters.  When  it  stopped  the  second  time  Fleda  went  forward, 
Hugh  must  have  been  busy  in  his  own  thoughts,  for  he  did  not  see 
her  until  he  had  again  adjusted  the  log  and  set  the  noisy  works  in 
motion.  She  stood  still.  Several  huge  timbers  lay  close  by,  ready 
for  the  saw  ;  and  on  one  of  them  where  he  had  been  sitting  Fleda 
saw  his  bible  lying  open.  As  her  eye  went  from  it  to  him  it  struck 
her  heart  with  a  pang  that  he  looked  tired  and  that  there  was  a  some 
thing  of  delicacy,  even  of  fragility,  in  the  air  of  face  and  figure 
both. 

He  came  to  meet  her  and  welcomed  her  with  a  smile  that  coming 
upon  this  feeling  set  Fleda's  heart  a  quivering.  Hugh's  smile  was 
always  one  of  very  great  sweetness,  though  never  unshadowed ; 
18 


£74 

there  was  often  something  ethereal  in  its  pure  gentleness.  This 
time  it  seemed  even  sweeter  than  usual,  but  though  not  sadder,  per- 
haps  less  sad,  Fled  a  could  hardly  command  herself  to  reply  to  it. 
She  could  not  at  the  moment  speak  ;  her  eye  glanced  at  his  open 
book. 

"  Yes,  it  rests  me,"  he  said,  answering  her. 

"  Rests  you,  dear  Hugh  ! — " 

He  smiled  again.  "  Here  is  somebody  else  that  wants  resting,  I 
am  afraid,"  said  he,  placing  her  gently  on  the  log  ;  and  before 
she  had  found  anything  to  say  he  went  off  again  to  his  machinery. 
fleda  sat  looking  at  him  and  trying  to  clear  her  bosom  of  its  thick 
breathing. 

"What  has  brought  you  up  here  through  the  hot  sun?"  said 
^e,  coming  back  after  he  had  stopped  the  saw,  and  sitting  down 
beside  her. 

Fleda's  lip  moved  nervously  and  her  eye  shunned  meeting  his. 
Softly  pushing  back  the  wet  hair  from  his  temples,  she  said, 

"  I  had  one  of  my  fits  of  doing  nothing  at  home — I  didn't  feel 
very  bright  and  thought  perhaps  you  didn't — so  on  the  principle 
that  two  negatives  make  an  affirmative — " 

"  I  feel  bright,"  said  Hugh  gently. 

Fleda's  eye  came  down  to  his,  which  was  steady  and  clear  as 
the  reflection  of  the  sky  in  Deepwater  lake, — and  then  hers  fell 
lower. 

"Why  don't  you,  dear  Fleda  ?  " 

"  I  believe  I  am  a  little  tired,"  Fleda  said,  trying  but  in  vain 
to  command  herself  and  look  up, — "  and  there  are  states  of  body 
when  anything  almost  is  enough  to  depress  one — " 

"And  what  depresses  you  now?"  said  he,  very  steadily  and 
quietly. 

"O — I  was  feeling  a  little  down  about  things  in  general,"  said 
Fleda  in  a  choked  voice,  trying  to  throw  off  her  load"  with  a  long 
breath  ; — "  it's  because  I  am  tired,  I  suppose — 

"I  felt  so  too,  a  little  while  ago,"  said  Hugh.  "  But  I  have 
concluded  to  give  all  that  up,  Fleda." 

Fleda  looked  at  him.  Her  eyes  were  swimming  full,  but  his 
were  clear  and  gentle  as  ever,  only  glistening  a  little  in  sympathy 
with  hers. 

"  I  thought  all  was  going  wrong  with  us,"  he  went  on.  "  But 
I  found  it  was  only  I  that  was  wrong  ;  and  since  that  I  have  been 
juite  happy,  Fleda." 

Fleda  could  not  speak  to  him  ;  his  words  made  her  pain  worse. 

'•'  I  told  you  this  rested  me,"  said  he  reaching  across  her  for  his 
book  ;  "  and  now  I  am  never  weary  long.  Shall  I  rest  you  with 
it ?  What  have  you  been  troubling  yourself  about  to-day  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer  while  he  was  turning  over  the  leaves,  and  he 
then  said, 

"Do  you  remember  this  Fleda? — 'Truly  God  is  food  to  Israel, 
even  to  them  that  are  of  a  clean  heart'  ' 

Fleda  bent  her  head  down  upon  her  hands. 

"I  was  moody  and  restless  the  other  day,"  said  Hugh, — "de 
sponding  of  everything  ; — and  I  came  upon  this  psalm  ;  and  it 
made  me  ashamed  of  myself.  I  had  been  disbelieving  it,  and  be- 


QUEECHF.  275 

cause  I  could  not  see  how  things  were  going  to  work  good  I  thought 
they  were  going  to  work  evil.  I  thought  we  were  wearing  out  our 
lives  along  here  in  a  wearisome  way,  and  I  forgot  that  it  must  be 
the  very  straightest  way  that  we  could  get  home.  I  am  sure  we 
shall  not  want  anything  that  will  do  us  good  ;  and  the  rest  I  am  will- 
ing  to  want — and  so  are  you,  Fleda?  " 

Fleda  squeezed  his  hand, — that  was  all.  For  a  minute  he  was 
silent,  and  then  went  on,  without  any  change  of  tone. 

"  I  had  a  notion  awhile  ago  that  I  should  like  it  if  it  were  pos 
sible  for  me  to  go  to  college  ;  but  I  am  quite  satisfied  now.  1 
have  good  time  and  opportunity  to  furnish  myself  with  a  bettes 
kind  of  knowledge,  that  1  shall  want  where  college  learning 
wouldn't  be  of  much  use  to  me  ;  and  I  can  do  it,  I  dare  say, 
better  here  in  this  mill  than  if  we  had  stayed  in  New  York  and  I 
had  lived  in  our  favorite  library." 

"  But  dear  Hugh,"  said  Fleda,  who  did  not  like  this  speech  in 
any  sense  of  it, — "the  two  things  do  not  clash  ?  The  better  man 
the  better  Christian  always,  other  things  being  equal.  The  more 
precious  kind  of  knowledge  should  not  make  one  undervalue  the 
less?" 

"  No," — he  said  ;  but  the  extreme  quietness  and  simplicity  of  his 
reply  smote  Fleda' s  fears  ;  it  answered  her  words  and  waived  her 
thought ;  she  dared  not  press  him  further.  She  sat  looking  over 
the  road  with  an  aching  heart. 

"  You  haven't  taken  enough  of  my  medicine,"  said  Hugh  smil 
ing.  "  Listen,  Fleda — 'A//  the  paths  of  the  Lord  are  mercy  and  truth 
unto  such  as  keep  his  covenant  and  his  testimonies'  " 

But  that  made  Fleda  cry  again. 

"  '  All  his  paths,'  Fleda — then,  whatever  may  happen  to  you, 
and  whatever  may  happen  to  me,  or  to  any  of  us. — I  can  trust  him. 
I  am  willing  any  one  should  have  the  world,  if  I  may  have  what 
Abraham  had — '  Fear  not  ;  I  am  thy  shield  and  thy  exceeding  greai 
reward;' — and  I  believe  I  shall,  Fleda  ;  for  it  is  not  the  hungry 
that  he  has  threatened  to  send  empty  away." 

Fleda  could  say  nothing,  and  Hugh  just  then  said  no  more.  For 
a  little  while,  near  and  busy  as  thoughts  might  bep  tongues  were 
silent.  Fleda  was  crying  quietly,  the  utmost  she  could  do  being 
to  keep  it  quiet ;  Hugh,  more  quietly,  was  considering  again  the 
strong  pillars  on  which  he  had  laid  his  hope,  and  trying  then 
strength  and  beauty  ;  till  all  other  things  were  to  him  as  the  misf 
rolling  off  from  the  valley  is  to  the  man  planted  on  a  watch-tower. 

His  meditations  were  interrupted  by  the  tramp  of  horse,  and  a 
party  of  riders  male  and  female  came  past  them  up  the  hill.  Hugh 
looked  on  as  they  went  by  ;  Fleda's  head  was  not  raised. 

"There  are  some  people  enjoying  themselves,"  said  Hugh, 
"After  all,  dear  Fleda,  we  should  be  very  sorry  to  change  places 
with  those  gay  riders.  I  would  not  for  a  thousand  worlds  give  my 
hope  and  treasure  for  all  other  they  can  possibly  have,  in  posses 
sion  or  prospect." 

"  No,  indeed  !  "  said  Fleda  energetically,  and  trying  to  rouse 
herself; — "and  besides  that,  Hugh,  we  have  as  it  is  a  great  deal 
more  to  enjoy  than  most  other  people.  We  are  so  happy — 

In  each  other,  she  was  going  to  say,  but  the  words  choked  her* 


278  QUEECHr. 

"  Those  people  looked  very  hard  at  us,  or  at  one  of  usc"  said 
Hugh.  "  It  must  have  been  you,  I  think,  Fleda." 

"They  are  welcome,"  said  Fleda;  "they  couldn't  have  made 
much  out  of  the  back  of  my  sun-bonnet." 

"  Well  dear  Fleda,  I  must  content  myself  with  little  more  than 
looking  at  you  now,  for  Mr.  Winegar  is  in  a  hurry  for  his  timber  to 
be  sawn,  and  I  must  set  this  noisy  concern  a  going  again." 

Fleda  sat  and  watched^  him,  with  rising  and  falling  hopes  and 
'ears,  forcing  her  lips  to  a  smile  when  he  came  near  her,  and  hiding 
icr  tears  at  other  times  ;  till  the  shadows  stretching  well  to  the 
ast  of  the  meridian,  admonished  her  she  had  been  there  long 
enough  ;  and  she  left  him  still  going  backward  and  forward  tend 
ing  the  saw. 

As  she  went  down  the  hill  she  pressed  involuntarily  her  hands 
upon  her  heart,  for  the  dull  heavy  pain  there.  But  that  was  no 
plaster  for  it ;  and  when  she  got  to  the  bridge  the  soft  singing  of  the 
little  brook  was  just  enough  to  shake  her  spirits  from  the  doubtful 
poise  they  had  kept.  Giving  one  hasty  glance  along  the  road  and 
up  the  hill  *to  make  sure  that  no  one  was  near  she  sat  down  on  a 
stone  in  the  edge  of  the  woods,  and  indulged  in  such  weeping  as 
her  gentle  eyes  rarely  knew  ;  for  the  habit  of  patience  so  cultivated 
for  others'  sake  constantly  rewarded  her  own  life  with  its  sweet 
fruits.  But  deep  and  bitter  in  proportion  was  the  flow  of  the 
fountain  once  broken  up.  She  struggled  to  remind  herself  that 
"  Providence  runneth  not  on  broken  wheels  ;  "  she  struggled  to  le- 
peat  to  herself,  what  she  did  not  doubt,  that  ««  all  the  ways  of  the 
Lord  are  mercy  and  truth"  to  his  people  ; — in  vain.  The  slight 
check  for  a  moment  to  the  torrent  of  grief  but  gave  it  greater  head 
to  sweep  over  the  barrier  ;  and  the  self-reproach  that  blamed  its 
violence  and  needlessness  only  made  the  flood  more  bitter.  Nature 
fought  against  patience  for  awhile  ;  but  when  the  loaded  heart  had 
partly  relieved  itself  patience  came  in  again  and  she  rose  up  to  go 
home.  It  startled  her  exceedingly  to  find  Mr.  Olmney  standing 
before  her,  and  looking  so  sorrowful  that  Fleda' s  eyes  could  not 
bear  it. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Ringgan ! — forgive  me — I  hope  you  will  forgive 
me, — but  I  could  not  leave  you  in  such  distress.  I  knew  that  in 
urn  it  could  only  be  from  some  very  serious  cause  of  grief." 

"  I  cannot  say  it  is  from  anything  new,  Mr.  Olmney — except  to 
•>y  apprehensions." 

"  You  are  all  well?  "  he  said  inquiringly,  after  they  had  walked 
a  few  steps  in  silence. 

"Well? — yes  sir, — "  said  Fleda  hesitatingly, — "but  I  do  not 
think  that  Hugh  looks  very  well." 

The  trembling  of  her  voice  told  him  her  thought.  But  he  re 
mained  silent. 

"  You  have  noticed  it?  "'she  said  hastily,  looking  up. 

"  I  think  you  have  told  me  he  alwa'ys  was  delicate  ?" 

"And  you  have  noticed  him  looking  so  lately,  Mr.  Olmney?" 

"  I  have  thought  so, — but  you  say  he  always  was  that.  If  you 
will  permit  me  to  say  so,  I  have  thought  the  same  of  you,  Miss 
Fleda." 

was  silent :  her  heart  ached  again, 


QUEECHY.  277 

"We  would  gladly  save  each  other  from  every  threatening 
trouble,"  said  Mr.  Olmney  again  after  a  pause  ; — "  but  it  ought  to 
content  us  that  we  do  not  know  how.  Hugh  is  in  good  hands,  my 
dear  Miss  Ringgan." 

"  I  know  it,  sir,"  said  Fleda  unable  quite  to  keep  back  her  tears, 
— "and  I  know  very  well  this  thread  of  our  life  will  not  bear  the 
strain  always, — and  I  know  that  the  strands  must  in  all  probability 
-.-.art  unevenly, — and  I  know  it  is  in  the  power  of  no  blind  fate,— 
',:Jt  that—" 

"  Does  not  lessen  our  clinging  to  each  other.     Oh  no! — it  grow: 
at  the  tenderer  and  the  stronger  for  the  knowledge." 

Fleda  could  but  cry. 

"•  And  yet,"  said  he  very  kindly, — "  we  who  are  Christians  may 
and  ought  to  learn  to  take  troubles  hopefully  ;  for  '  tribulation 
worketh  patience  ;  and  patience,'  that  is,  quiet  waiting  on  God, 
'  works  experience  '  of  his  goodness  and  faithfulness  ;  '  ?nd  experi 
ence  worketh  hope  ;  and  that  hope,'  we  know,  '  ir<aketh  not 
ashamed.'  " 

"I  know  it,"  said  Fleda; — "but  Mr.  Olmney,  how  easjy  the 
brunt  of  a  new  affliction  breaks  down  all  that  chain  c"  ;eason- 
ing  !  " 

"  Yes  ! — "  he  said  sadly  and  thoughtfully  ; — "  but  M\  a-  ar  Miss 
Fleda,  you  know  the  way  to  build  it  up  again.  1  would  be  very 
glad  to  bear  all  need  for  it  away  from  you  !  " 

They  had  reached  the  ?ate.  Fleda  could  not  look  up  to  thank 
him  ;  the  hand  she  held  out  was  grasped,  more  than  kindly,  and 
've  turned  away. 

Fleda' s  tears  came  hot  again  as  she  went  up  the  walk  ;  she  held 
her  head  down  to  hide  them  and  went  round  the  back  way. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Now,  the  melancholy  god  protect  thee  ;  and  the  tailor  make  thy  doublet 
cf  changeable  taffeta,  for  thy  mind  is  a  very  opal ! — TWELFTH  NIGHT. 

11  WELL  what  did  you  come  home  for?  "  was  Barby's  salutation  ; 
-"  here's  company  been  waiting  for  you  till  they're  tired,  and  I 
m  sure  I  be." 

;<  Company  !  ! — "  said  Fleda. 

'  Ves,  and  it's  ungrateful  in  you  to  say  so,'  said  Barby,  "  foi 
jlvj's  been  in  a  wonderful  hurry  to  see  you, — or  to  get  somethin*  to 
sat  ;  I  don't  know  which  ;  a  little  o'  both,  I  hope  in  charity." 

"  Why  didn't  you  give  her  something  to  eat  ?     Who  is  it  ?  '* 

•'  I  don't  know  who  it  is!  It's  one  of  your  highflyers,  that's  all 
I  can  make  out.  She  'a' n't  a  hat  a  bit  better  than  a  man's  beaver, 
—one  'ud  think  she  had  stole  her  little  brother's  for  a  spree,  if  the 
rest  of  her  was  like  common  folks  ;  but  she's  got  a  tail  to  her  dress 
as  long  as  from  here  to  Queechy  Run  ;  and  she's  been  tiddling  in 
and  out  here  with  it  puckered  up  under  her"  arm  sixty  times.  I 
guess  she  belongs  to  some  company  of  female  militie,  for  the  body 
of  it  is  all  thick  with  braid  and  buttons.  I  believe  she  ha' n't  sot 
still  five  minutes  since  she  come  into  the  house,  till  I  don't  know 
whether  I  am  on  my  head  or  my  heels/' 


278  QUEECHY. 

"But  why  didn't  you  give  her  something  to  eat  ?"  said  Fleda 
who  was  hastily  throwing  off  her  gloves  and  smoothing  her  disor 
dered  hair  with  her  hands  into  something  of  composure. 

"Did!"  said  Barby  ; — "I  give  her  some  o'  them  cold  biscuit 
and  butter  and  cheese  and  a  pitcher  of  milk — sot  a  good  enough 
meal  for  anybody — but  she  didn't  take  but  a  crumb,  and  she 
turned  up  her  nose  at  that.  Come,  go ! — you've  slicked  up  enough 
— you're  handsome  enough  to  show  yourself  to  her  any  time  c»' 
day,  for  all  her  jig-embobs." 

"  Where  is  aunt  Lucy  ?  " 

"  She's  up  stairs  ; — there's  been  nobody  to  see  her  but  me.  She\ 
had  the  hull  lower  part  of  the  house  to  herself,  kitchen  and  all,  and 
she's  done  nothing  but  go  out  of  one  room  into  another  ever  since 
she  come.  She'll  be  in  here  again  directly  if  you  ain't  spry." 

Fleda  went  in,  round  to  the  west  room,  and  there  found  herself  in 
the  arms  of  the  second  Miss  Evelyn,  who  jumped  to  meet  her  and 
half  stifled  her  with  caresses. 

"  You  wicked  little  creature  !  what  have  you  been  doing  ?  Here 
have  I  been  growing  melancholy  over  the  tokens  of  your  absence, 
and  watching  the  decline  of  the  sun  with  distracted  feelings  these 
six  hours." 

"  Six  hours  !  "  said  Fleda  smiling. 

"  My  dear  little  Fleda  ! — it's  so  delicious  to  see  you  again  !  "  said 
Miss  Evelyn  with  another  prolonged  hug  and  kiss. 

"My  dear  Constance! — I  am  very  glad — But  where  are  the 
rest?" 

"  It's  unkind  of  you  to  ask  after  anybody  but  me,  when  I  came 
here  this  morning  on  purpose  to  talk  the  whole  day  to  you.  Now 
dear  little  Fleda,"  said  Miss  Constance,  executing-  an  impa 
tient  little  persuasive  caper  round  her, — "  won't  you  go  out  and 
order  dinner?  for  I'm  raging.  Your  woman  did  give  me  some 
thing  but  I  found  the  want  of  you  had  taken  away  all  my  appetite  ; 
and  now  the  delight  of  seeing  you  has  exhausted  me,  and  I  feel  that 
nature  is  sinking.  The  stimulus  of  gratified  affection  is  too  much  for 
me." 

"  You  absurd  child  !  "  said  Fleda, — "  you  haven't  mended  a  bit 
But  I  told  Barby  to  put  on  the  tea-kettle  and  I  will  administer  a  com 
posing  draught  as  soon  as  it  can  be  got  ready  ;  we  don't  indulge  ;r 
dinners  here  in  the  wilderness.  Meanwhile  suppose  that  exhausted 
nature  try  the  support  of  this  easy-chair  ?  " 

She  put  her  visitor  gently  into  it,  and  seating  herself  upon  theanr 
held  her  hand  and  looked  at  her,  with  a  smiling  face  and  yet  with 
eyes  that  were  almost  too  gentle  in  their  welcoming. 

"  My  dear  little  Fleda  ! — you're  as  lovely  as  you  can  be  !  Are 
you  glad  to  see  me  ?  " 

"Very." 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  after  somebody  else  ?" 

"  I  was  afraid  of  pvertasking  your  exhausted  energies." 

"  Come  and  sit  down  here  upon  my  lap! — you  shall,  or  I  won't 
say  another  word  to  you.  Fleda!  you've  grown  thin  !  what  have 
you  been  doing  to  yourself?  " 

"  Nothing,  with  that  paiticuiar  purpose." 

"  I  don't  care,  you've  done  something.     You  have  been  insanehr 


279 

imagining  that  it  is  necessary  for  you  to  be  in  three  or  four  places  at 
the  same  time,  and  in  the  distracted  effort  after  ubiquity  you  are  in 
imminent  danger  of  being  nowhere — there's  nothing  left  of  you  !  " 

"I  don't  wonder  you  were  overcome  at  the  sight  of  me,"  said 
Fleda. 

"  But  you  are  looking  charmingly  for  all  that,"  Constance  went 
on ; — "  so  charmingly  that  I  feel  a  morbid  sensation  creeping  all 
over  me  while  I  sit  regarding  you.  Really,  when  you  come  to  us 
next  winter  if  you  persist  in  being. — by  way  of  showing  your  supers 
irity  to  ordinary  human  nature, — a  rose  without  a  thorn,  the  rest 
3f  the  flowers  may  all  shut  up  at  once.  And  the  rose  reddens  in 
my  very  face,  to  spite  me  !  " 

"  Is  '  ordinary  human  nature  '  typified  by  a  thorn  ?  You  give  it 
rather  a  poor  character." 

41  I  never  heard  of  a  Thorn  that  didn't  bear  an  excellent  charac 
ter  !  "  said  Constance  gravely. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Fleda  laughing  ; — "  I  don't  want  to  hear  about 
Mr.  Thorn. — Tell  me  of  somebody  else." 

"I  haven't  said  a  word  about  Mr.  Thorn !"  said  Constance 
ecstatically,  "  but  since  you  ask  about  him  1  will  tell  you.  He  has 
not  acted  like  himself  since  you  disappeared  from  our  horrizon — 
that  is,  he  has  ceased  to  be  at  all  pointed  in  his  attentions  to  me  ;  his 
conversation  has  lost  all  the  acuteness  for  which  I  remember  you 
admired  it ;  he  has  walked  Broadway  in  a  moody  state  of  mind  all 
winter,  and  grown  as  dull  as  is  consistent  with  the  essential  sharp 
ness  of  his  nature.  I  ought  to  accept  our  last  interview,  though,  for 
his  entreaties  to  mamma  that  she  would  bring  you  home  with  her 
were  piercing." 

Fleda  was  unable  in  spite  of  herself  to  keep  from  laughing,  but 
entreated  that  Constance  would  tell  her  of  somebody  else. 

"My  respected  parents  are  at  Montepoole,  with  all  their  off 
spring, — that  is,  Florence  and  Edith, — I  am  at  present  anxiously  en 
quired  after,  being  nobody  knows  where,  and  to  be  fetched  by 
mamma  this  evening.  Wasn't  I  good,  little  Fleda,  to  run  away 
from  Mr.  Carleton  to  come  and  spend  a  whole  day  in  social  con 
verse  with  you  ?  " 

"  Carleton  !  "  said  Fleda. 

"Yes, — O  you  don't  know  who  he  is  !  he's  a  new  attraction — 
here's  been  nothing  like  him  this  great  while,  and  all  New  York  is 
opsy-turvy  about  him  ;  the  mothers  are  dying  with  anxiety  and  the 
-laughters  with  admiration;  and  it's  too  delightful  to  see  the  cool 
-superiority  with  which  he  takes  it  all ;— like  a  new  star  that  all  the 
people  are  pointing  their  telescopes  at, — as  Thorn  said  spitefully  the 
other  day.  O  he  has  turned  my  head  !  I  have  looked  till  I  cannot 
look  at  any  thing  else.  I  can  just  manage  to  see  a  rose,  but  my 
dazzled  powers  of  vision  are  equal  to  nothing  more." 

"  My  dear  Constance  ! — 

"  It's  perfectly  true  !  Why  as  soon  as  we  knew  he  was  coming  to 
Montepoole  I  wouldn't  let  mamma  rest  till  we  all  made  a  rush  after 
him — and  when  we  got  here  first  and  I  was  afraid  he  wasn't  coming, 
nothing  can  express  the  state  of  my  feelings  !  ! — But  he  appeared 
the  next  morning,  and  then  I  was  quite  happy,"  said  Constance, 


980  QUEECHY. 

rising  -\nd  falling  in  her  chair  on  what  must  have  been  ecstatic 
springs,  tor  wire  ones  it  had  none. 

"  Corutance  !  •  -"  said  Plecia  with  a  miserable  attempt  at  rebuke, 
— "  how  can  you  talk  so  '  " 

"  And  so  we  v.ere  all  riding  round  here  this  morning  and  I  had 
the  self-denial  to  ^top  to  see  you  and  leave  Florence  and  the  Marl- 
boroughs  to  monopolize  hirn  all  the  way  home.  You  ought  to  love 
me  forever  for  it.  My  dear  Fleda ! — "  said  Constance,  clasping 
her  hands  and  elevating  her  eyes  in  mock  ecstasy, — "  if  you  had  eve? 
seen  iWr.  Carleton  ! — " 

"  I  dare  say  I  have  soen  somebody  as  good,"  said  Fleda  quietly 

"My  dear  Fleda!  "  vaid  Constance,  a  little  scornfully  this  timet 
— "  you  haven't  the  least  ;dea  what  you  are  talking  about !  I  tell 
you  he  is  an  Englishman, — he's  of  one  of  the  best  families  of  En 
gland, — not  such  as  you  eve*.*  see  here  but  once  in  an  age, — he's  rich 
enough  to  count  Mr.  Thorn  tver  I  don't  know  how  many  times." 

'•  1  don't  like  anybody  the  better  for  being  an  Englishman,"  said 
Fleda  ;  "  and  it  must  be  a  » mall  man  whose  purse  will  hold  his 
measure." 

Constance  male  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  But  I  tell  y*m  it  isn't !  \Vv  knew  him  when  we  were  abroad, 
and  we  know  what  he  is,  and  we  tnow  his  mother  very  well.  When 
we  were  in  England  %ve  were  a  we^k  with  them  down  at  their  beau- 

tiful  place  in shiie, — the  loveliest  time  !  You  see  she  was  over 

here  with  Mr.  Carleton  ^nce  before,  a  good  while  ago  ;  and  mamma 
and  papa  were  polite  to  them,  and  so  they  showed  us  a  great  deal 
of  attention  when  we  were  in  Englai>  d.  W_  had  the  loveliest  time 
down  there  you  can  possibly  conceive.  And  my  dear  Fleda,  he 
wears  such  a  fur  cloak!  ! — ih'ned  with  the  most  exquisite  black  fox." 

"  But  Constance  !  "  said  Fleda,  a  litile  vexed  though  laughing, — 
«c  any  man  may  wear  a  fur  cloak — the  thing  is,  what  is  inside  of  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  perfectly  indifferent  ta  me  what  is  inside  of  it  !  "  said  Con 
stance  ecstatically.  "  I  can  sec  nothing  but  the  edges  of  the  black 
fox,  especially  when  it  is  worn  s;.  very  gracefully." 

"  But  in  some  cases  there  migh-.  be  a  white  fox  within  ?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  of  the  fox  about  Mr.  Carleton  !  "  said  Con 
stance  impatiently.  "  If  it  had  boen  anybody  else  I  should  have 
said  he  was  a  bear  two  or  three  time*.  ;  but  he  wears  everything  as  he 
does  his  cloak,  and  makes  you  take  what  he  pleases  from  him  r 
what  I  wouldn't  take  from  any  body  ekse  I  know." 

"  With  a  fox  lining  ?  "  said  Fleda  laughing. 

"Then  foxes  haven't  got  their  true  character,  that's  all.  Now 
Flljust  tell  you  an  instance — it  was  at  a  party  somewhere — it  was  at 
that  tiresome  Mrs.  Swinburne's,  where  the  evenings  are  always  so 
stupid,  and  there  was  nothing  worth  going  or  staying  for  but  the 
supper, — except  Mr.  Carletori !  and  he  aever  stays  five  minutes, 
except  at  two  or  three  places";  and  it  drives  me  crazy,  because 
they  are  places  I  don't  go  to  very  often — " 

'*  Suppose  you  keep  your  wits  and  tell  me  your  story  ?  " 

"  Well — don't  interrupt  me  ! — he  was  there,  and  he  had  taken  me 
into  the  supper-room,  when  mamma  came  along  and  took  it  into  her 
head  to  tell  me  not  to  take  something — I  forget  what — punch,  I  be 
lieve,  -because  I  had  not  been  wen  in  the  morning.  Now  you 


QUEtiCHY.  281 

know,  it  was  absurd !  I  was  perfectly  well  then,  and  I  told  her  I 
shouldn't  mind  her  ;  but  do  you  believe  Mr.  Carleton  wouldn't 
give  it  to  me? — absolutely  told  me  he  wouldn't,  and  told  me  why, 
as  coolly  as  possible,  and  gave  me  a  glass  of  water  and  made  me 
drink  it  ;  and  if  it  had  been  anybody  else  I  do  assure  you  I  would 
have  flung  it  in  his  face  and  never  spoken  to  him  again  ;  and  1 
have  been  in  love  with  him  ever  since.  Now  is  that  tea  going  to 
be  ready  ?" 

•«  Presently.     How  long  have  you  been  here?  " 

"  O  a  day  or  two — and  it  has  poured  with  rain  every  single  dar 

nee  we  came,  till  this  one  ; — and  just  think  !  " — said  Constance 
;nth  a  ludicrously  scared  face, — "  I  must  make  haste  and  be  back 
again.  You  see,  I  came  away  on  principle,  that  I  may  strike  with 
the  effect  of  novelty  when  I  appear  again  ;  but  if  I  stay  too  long, 
you  know, — there  is  a  point — ' 

"On  the  principle  of  the  ice-boats,"  said  Fleda,  "that  back  a 
little  to  give  a  better  blow  to  the  ice,  where  they  find  it  tough  ?  " 

"Tough!"  said  Constance. 

"  Does  Florence  like  this  paragon  of  yours  as  well  as  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know— ^she  don't  talk  so  much  about  him,  but  that 
proves  nothing  ;  she's  too  happy  to  talk  to  him. — I  expect  our 
family  concord  will  be  shattered  by  and  by  !  "  said  Constance 
shaking  her  head. 

"  You  seem  to  take  the  prospect  philosophically,"  said  Fleda, 
looking  amused.  "  How  long  are  you  going  to  stay  at  the  Pool  ?  " 

Constance  gave  an  expressive  shrug,  intimating  that  the  deciding 
of  that  question  did  not  rest  with  her. 

"  That  is  to  say,  you  are  here  to  watch  the  transit  of  this  star  over 
the  meridian  of  Queechy  ?  " 

"Of  Queechy  ! — of  Montepoole." 

"Very  well— cf  Montepoole.  I  don't  wonder  that  nature  is  ex» 
hausted.  I  will  go  and  see  after  this  refection." 

The  preitiest  little  meal  in  the  world  was  presently  set  forth  for  the 
two  ; — Fleda  knew  her  a«nt  would  not  come  down,  and  Hugh  was 
yet  at  the  mill ;  so  she  led  her  visitor  into  the  breakfast-room  alone, 
Constance  by  the  way  again  fondly  embracing  her  and  repeating, 
•"  My  dear  little  Fleda  ! — how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  ! 

The  lady  was  apparently  hungry,  for  there  was  a  minute  of  si- 
-nee  while  the  refection  begun,  and  then  Constance  exclaimed,, 
;e>haps  with  a  sudden' appreciation  of  the  delicious  bread  and  but- 
sr  and  cream  and  strawberries, 

11  What  a  lovely  old  room  this  is!— and  what  lovely  times  you 
aave  here,  don't  you,  Fleda?" 

<•  Yes— sometimes,"  Fleda  said  with  a  sigh. 

•='  But  I  shall  tell  mamma  you  are  growing  thin,  and  the  first 
minute  we  get  home  I  shall  send  for  you  to  come  to  us.  Mrs. 
Thorn  will  be  amazingly  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Has  she  got  back  from  Europe?"  snid  Fleda. 

"  Ages  ! — and  she's  been  entertaining  the  world  as  hard  as  she 

could    ever   since.     1    have    no  doubt  Lewis  has  confided  to   the 

maternal  bosom  all  his  distresses  ;  and  there  never  was  anything 

ti'ce  the  rush  that  !  expect  will  be  made  to  our  greenhouse  next 

- .     O  Fleda,  you  should  see  Mr.  Carleton's  greenhouses  \  "' 


282  qUEECHY. 

"Should  I?"  said  Fleda. 

"  Dear  me  !  I  hope  mamma  will  come  !  "  said  Constance  with 
a  comical  fidgety  shake  of  herself ; — «•  when  I  think  of  those  green 
houses  I  lose  my  self-command.  And  the  park  ! — Fleda,  it's  the 
loveliest  thing  you  ever  saw  in  your  life  ;  and  it's  all  that  de 
lightful  man's  doing  ;  only  he  won't  have  a  geometric  flower- 
garden,  as  I  did  -everything  I  could  think  of  to  persuade  him.  I 
pity  the  woman  that  will  be  his  wife, — she  won't  have  her  own 
way  in  a  single  thing  ;  but  then  he  will  fascinate  her  into  think' 
ing  that  his  way  is  the  best,  so  it  will  do  just  as  well  I  suppose 
Do  you  know  I  can't  conceive  what  he  has  come  over  here  for: 
He  has  been  here  before,  you  know,  and  he  don't  seem  to  me  to 
know  exactly  what  he  means  to  do  ;  at  least  I  can't  find  out.  and  I 
have  tried." 

"  How  long  has  he  been  here  ?  " 

"  O  a  month  or  two — since  the  beginning  of  April,  I  believe.  He 
came  over  with  some  friends  of  his — a  Sir  George  Egerton  and  his 
family  ; — he  is  going  to  Canada,  to  be  established  in  some  post 
there,  I  forget  what  ;  and  they  are  spending  part  of  the  summer 
here  before  they  fix  themselves  at  the  North.  It  is  easy  to  see  what 
they  are  here  for, — they  are  strangers  and  amusing  themselves  ;  but 
Mr.  Carleton  is  at  home,  and  not  amusing  himself,  at  least  he  don't 
seem  to  be.  He  goes  about  with  the  Egertons,  but  that  is  just  for 
his  friendship  for  them  ;  and  he  puzzles  me.  He  don't  knew 
whether  he  is  going  to  Niagara, — he  has  been  once  already — and 
'perhaps*  he  may  go  to  Canada, — and  'possibly  '  he  will  make 
a  journey  to  the  West, — and  I  can't  find  out  that  he  wants  any 
thing  in  particular." 

"Perhaps  he  don't  mean  that  you  shall,"  said  Fleda. 

"  Perhaps   he  don't ;   but    you  see  that  aggravates  my  state  r/ 
mind    to    a    distressing    degree.     And  then  I'm  afraid  he  will  ~ 
somewhere  where  I  can't  keep  watch  of  him  ! — " 

Fleda  could  not  help  laughing. 

"  Perhaps  he  was  tired  of  home  and  came  for  mere  weariness/' 

"  Weariness!  it's  my  opinion  he  has  no  idea  there  is  such  a 
word  in  the  language, — I  am  certain  if  he  heard  it  he  would  call 
for  a  dictionary  the  next  minute.  Why  at  Carleton  it  seems  to 
lie  he  was  half  the  time  on  horseback,  flying  about  from  one  end 
Df  the  country  to  the  other  ;  and  when  he  is  in  the  house  he  is 
always  at  work  at  something  ;  it's  a  piece  of  condescension  to  get 
him  to  attend  to  you  at  all ;  only  when  he  does,  my  dear  Fleda! 
—he  is  so  enchanting  that  you  live  in  a  state  of  delight  till  next 
time.  And  yet  I  never  could  get  him  to  pay  me  a  compliment 
to  this  minute, — I  tried  two  or  three  times,  and  he  rewarded  me 
with  some  very  rude  speeches." 

"  Rude  !  "  said  Fleda. 

"  Yes, — that  is,  they  were  the  most  graceful  and  fascinating 
things  possible,  but  they  would  have  been  rudeness  in  anybody 
else.  Where  is  mamma!"  said  Constance  with  another  comic 
counterfeit  of  distress.  "  My  dear  Fleda,  it's  the  most  captivat 
ing  thing  to  breakfast  at  Carleton  !— -" 

"  I  have  no  idea  the  bread  and  butter  is  sweeter  there  than  to 
feme  other  parts  of  the  world,"  said  Fleda. 


283 

«•  I  don't  know  about  the  bread  and  butter/'  s?M  Constance, 
"  but  those  exquisite  little  sugar-dishes  !  My  ciear  I-  leda,  every  one 
has  his  own  sugar-dish  and  cream-ewer — the  loveliest  little 
things  ! — ' ' 

"I  have  heard  of  such  things  before,"  said  Fieua. 

"I  don't  care  about  the  bread  and  butter,"  said  Constance; 
"eating  is  immaterial,  with  those  perfect  little  things  right  opposite 
to  me.  They  weren't  like  any  you  ever  saw,  Fleda — the  sugar- 
bowl  was  just  a  little  plain  oval  box,  with  the  lid  on  a  hinge,  and 
'act  a  bit  of  chasing,  only  the  arms  on  the  cover  ;  like  nothing  I  ever 
jaw  but  an  old-fashioned  silver  tea-caddy  ;  and  the  cream-jug  a  lit- 
cle  straight  up  and  down  thing  to  match.  Mamma  said  they  were 
:lumsy,  but  they  bewitched  me  ! — " 

"  I  think  everything  bewitched  you,"  said  Fleda  smiling.  "Can't 
your  head  stand  a  sugar-dish  and  milk-cup?" 

"  My  dear   Fleda,  I  never  had   your   superiority  to  the  ordinar 
weaknesses  of  human   nature — I    can  stand  one  sugar-bowl,  but 
confess  myself  overcome  by  a  dozen.     Kow  we  have  all  wanted  to 
see   you,   Fleda!  and    papa;  you   have  captivated  papa;  and  he 
says—" 
.   "  Never  mind — don't  tell  me  what  he  says,"  said  Fleda. 

"There — that's  your  modesty,  that  everybody  raves  about — I 
wish  I  could  catch  it.  Fleda,  where  did  you  get  that  little  bible? — 
while  I  was  waiting  for  you  I  tried  to  sooth  my  restless  anticipations 
with  examining  all  the  things  in  all  the  rooms  ; — where  did  you  get 
it?" 

"  It  was  given  me  a  long  while  ago,"  said  Fleda. 

"  But  it  is  real  gold  on  the  outside  ! — the  clasps  and  all — do  you 
know  it  ?  it  is  not  washed." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Fleda  smiling  ;  "  and  it  is  better  than  gold  in- 
side." 

"  Wasn't  that  mamma's  favorite  Mr.  Olmney  that  parted  from  you 
at  the  gate  ?  "  said  Constance  after  a  minute's  silence. 

"Yel" 

'•  Is  he  a  favorite  of  yours  too  ?  " 

'You  must  define  what  you  mean  by  a  favorite  ?"  said  Fleda 
gravely. 

"  Well,  how  do  you  like  him  ?  " 

"  I  believe  everybody  likes  him,"  said  Fleda,  coloring  and  vexed 
*t  herself  that  she  could  not  help  it.  The  bright  eyes  opposite  her 
iook  note  of  the  fact  with  a  sufficiently  wide-awake  glance. 

"He's  very  good!"  said  Constance  hugging  herself,  and  tak 
ing  a  fresh  supply  of  butter, — "  but  don't  let  him  know  I  have 
been  to  see  you  or  he'll  tell  you  all  sorts  of  evil  things  about  me 
for  fear  you  should  innocently  be  contaminated.  Don't  you  like 
to  be  taken  care  of  ?  " 

"Very  much,"  said  Fleda  smiling, — "by  people  that  knomr 
how." 

"I  can't  bear  it!"  said  Constance,  apparently  with  great  sin 
cerity  ; — "  I  think  it  is  the  most  impertinent  thing  in  the  world 
people  can  do.  I  can't  endure  it — except  from — !  Oh  my  dear 
Fleda !  it  is  perfect  luxury  to  have  him  put  a  shawl  round  your 
shoulders!  " 


284  QUEECHY. 

"  Fleda,"  said  Earl  Douglass  putting  his  head  in  frocn  the 
rJtchen  and  before  he  said  any  more  bobbing  it  frankly  at  Miss 
Evelyn,  half  in  acknowledgment  of  her  presence  and  half  as  it 
seemed  in  apology  for  his  own, — "  Fleda,  will  you  let  Barby  pack 
somethin'  'nother  for  the  men's  lunch  ? — my  wife  would  ha'  done  it, 
as  she  had  ought,  to,  if  she  wa'n't  down  with  the  teethache,  and 
Catherine's  away  on  a  jig  to  Kenton,  and  the  men  won't  do  so 
much  work  on  nothin',  and  I  can't  say  nothin'  to  'em  if  they  don't  ; 
and  I'd  like  to  get  that  'ere  clover  field  afore  night — it's  goin'  tc 
be  a  fine  spell  o'  weather.  I  was  a  goin'  to  try  to  get  along  with* 
out  it ;  but  I  believe  we  can't." 

"Very  well,"  said  Fleda.  "But  Mr.  Douglass,  you'll  try  the 
experiment  of  curing  it  in  cocks?  " 

"Well  I  don't  know,"  said  Earl  in  a  tone  of  very  discontented 
acquiescence, — "  I  don't  see  how  anythin*  should  be  as  sweet  as  the 
sun  for  dryin'  hay — I  know  folks  says  it  is,  and  I've  heerd  'em 
say  it  is  !  and  they'll  stand  to  it  and  you  can't  beat  'em  oft"  the 
notion  it  is  ;  but  somehow  or  'nother  I  can't  seem  to  come  into  it. 
I  know  the  sur;  makes  sweet  hay,  and  I  think  the  sun  was  meant  to 
make  hay,  and  I  don't  want  to  see  no  sweeter  hay  than  the  sun 
makes  ;  it's  as  good  hay  as  you  need  to  have." 

"  But  you  wouldn't  mind  trying  it  for  once,  Mr.  Douglass,  just 
for  me? " 

"  I'll  do  just  what  you  please,"  said  he  with  a  little  exculpatory 
shake  of  his  head  ;—  "  'tain't  my  concern — it's  no  concern  of  mine 
—the  gain  or  the  loss  '11  be  your'n,  and  it's  fair  you  should  have  the 
gain  OR  the  loss,  which  ever  on  'em  you  choose  to  have.  I'll  put  it 
in  cocks — how  much  heft  should  be  in  'em?  " 

"About  a  hundred  pounds — and  you  don't  want  to  cut  any  mor* 
than  you  can  put  up  to-night,  Mr.  Douglass.  We'll  try  it." 

"  Very  good  !  And  you'll  send  along  somethin'  for  the  men-- 
Barby  knows,"  said  Earl  bobbing  his  head  again  intelligently  at 
Fleda, — "  there's  four  on  'em  and  it  takes  somethin'  to  feeoV'em— 
workin*  men  '11  put  away  a  good  deal  o'  meat." 

He  withdrew  his  head  and  closed  the  door,  happily  for  Con 
stance,  who  went  off  into  a  succession  of  ecstatic  convulsions. 

"  What  time  of  day  do  your  eccentric  hay-makers  prefer  for  the 
rest  of  their  meals,  if  they  lunch  at  three  o'clock?  I  never  heard 
anything  so  original  in  my  life." 

"This  is  lunch  number  two,"  said  Fleda  smiling  ;  "  lunch  num 
foer  one  is  about  ten  in  the  morning  ;  and  dinner  at  twelve." 

"And  do  they  gladden  their  families  with  their  presence  at  th* 
other  ordinary  convivial  occasions  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  And  what  do  they  have  for  lunch  ?  " 

"  Varieties.  Bread  and  cheese,  and  pies,  and  Quirl-cakes  ;  at 
every  other  meal  they  have  meat." 

"  Horrid  creatures  !  " 

"  It  is  only  during  haying  and  harvesting." 

"  And  you  have  to  see  to  all  this  !  poor  little  Fleda  !  I  declare, 
if  I  was  you- — I'd  do  something  !— " 

"No,'  said  Flsda  quietly,  "Mrs.  Douglass  and  Barby  manage 
the  lunch  between  them.  I  am  not  at  all  desperate." 


(JUEECHY.  283 

"  But  to  have  to  talk  to  these  people  !  " 

44  Earl  Douglass  is  not  a  very  polished  specimen,"  said  Fleda 
smiling  ;  "but  I  assure  you  in  some  of  •  these  people  '  there  is  an 
amount  of  goodness  and  wit,  and  shrewd  practical  sense  and  judg 
ment,  that  would  utterly  distance  many  of  those  that  would  call 
'diem  bears." 

Constance  looked  a  good  deal  more  than  she  said. 

•My  dear  little  Fleda!  you're  too  sensible  for  anything,  but 
i*  I  don't  like  sense  from  anybody  but  Mr.  Carleton  I  would 
father  look  at  you  in  the  capacity  of  a  rose,  smiling  a  gentle  re= 
buke  upon  me  while  I  talk  nonsense." 

And  she  did  talk,  and  Fleda  did  smile  and  laugh,  in  spite  oi 
herself,  till  Mrs.  Evelyn  and  her  other  daughters  made  their  ap 
pearance. 

Then  Barby  said  she  thought  they'd  have  talked  the  house 
down  ;  and  she  expected  there1  d  be  nothing  left  of  Fleda  after  all 
the  kissing  she  got.  But  it  was  not  too  much  for  Fleda's  pleasure. 
Mrs.  Evelyn  was  so  tenderly  kind,  and  Miss  Evelyn  as  caressing 
as  her  sister  had  been,  and  Edith,  who  was  but  a  child,  so  joyously 
delighted,  that  Fleda's  eyes  were  swimming  in  happiness  as  she 
looked  from  one  to  the  other,  and  she  could  hardly  answer  kisses 
and  questions  fast  enough. 

"Them  is  good-looking  enough  girls,"  said  Barby  as  Fleda 
came  back  to  the  house  after  seeing  them  to  their  carnage, — "if 
they  knowed  how  to  dress  themselves.  I  never  see  this  fly-away 
one  'afore— I  knowed  the  old  one  as  soon  as  I  clapped  my  eyes  onto 
her.  Be  they  stopping  at  the  Pool  again  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well  when  are  you  going  up  there  to  see  'em  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Fleda  quietly.  And  then  sighing  as  the 
thought  of  her  aunt  came  into  her  head  she  went  off  to  find  her  and 
bring  her  down. 

Fleda's  brow  was  sobered,  and  her  spirits  were  in  a  flutter  that 
was  not  all  of  happiness,  and  that  threatened  not  to  settle  down 
quietly.  But  as  she  went  slowly  up  the  stairs  faith's  hand  was  laidf 
even  a*  her  own  grasped  the  balusters,  on  the  promise, 

"  All  the  paths  of  the  Lord  are  mercy  and  truth  unto  such  as 
.ceep  his  covenant-and  his  testimonies." 

She  set  faith's  foot  down  on  those  sure  stepping-stones  ;  and  sir 
opened  her  aunt's  door  and  looked  in  with  a  face  that  was  neither 
troubled  nor  afraid. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Ant.     He  misses  not  much. 

Sc&.     No ;  he  doth  but  mistake  the  truth  totally. 

TEMPEST. 

IT  was  the  very  next  morning  that  several  ladies  and  gentleman 
were  gathered  on  the  piazza  of  the  hotel  at  Montepoole,  to  brace 
minds  or  appetites  with  the  sweet  mountain  air  while  waiting  for 
breakfast.  As  they  stood  there  a  young  countryman  came 
ing  on  his  hip  a  large  basket  of  fruit  and  vegetables. 


286  QUEECHY. 

"O  took  at  those  lovely  strawberries!"  exclaimed  Constanct 
Evelyn  running  down  the  steps. — "  Stop  if  you  please — where  are 
you  going  with  these?  " 

"  Marm !  "  responded  the  somewhat  startled  carrier. 

J<  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  them  ?  " 

"  I  asn't  going  to  do  nothin'  with  "em." 

41  Whose  are  they  ?     Are  they  for  sale  ?  " 

"  Well,  'twon't  deu  no  harm,  as  I  know,"  said  the  young  man 
making  a  virtue  of  necessity,  for  the  fingers  of  Constance  were  al 
ready  hovering  over  the  dainty  little  leaf-strewn  baskets  and  he? 
eyes  complacently  searching  for  the  most  promising  ; — "  I  ha  n't 
got  nothin'  to  deu  with  "em." 

"  Constance  !  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  from  the  piazza, — "don't  take 
that!  I  dare  say  they  are  for  Mr.  Sweet.'! 

"Well  mamma! —  '  said  Constance  with  great  equanimity, — 
•'  Mr.  Sweet  gets  them  for  me,  and  I  only  save  him  the  trouble  of 
spoiling  them.  My  taste  leads  me  to  prefer  the  simplicity  of  primi 
tive  arrangements  this  morning." 

"  Young  man !  "  called  out  the  landlady's  reproving  voice, 
"  won't  you  never  recollect  to  bring  that  basket  round  the  back 
way  ! 

"  'Tain't  no  handier  than  this  way,"  said  Philetus,  with  so  much 
belligerent  demonstration  that  the  landlady  thought  best  in  presence 
of  her  guests  to  give  over  the  question. 

"  Where  do  you  get  them  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"How? — "  said  Philetus. 

"  Where  do  they  come  come  ?    Are  they  fresh  picked  ?  " 

"Just  afore  I  started." 

"  Started  from  where?  "  said  a  gentleman  standing  by  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"  From  Mr.  Rossitur's,  down  to  Queechy." 

"Mr.  Rossitur's!"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn; — "does  he  send  them 
here?" 

"  He  doos  not,"  said  Philetus  ; — "he  doosn't  keep  to  hum  for  a 
long  spell." 

"  Who  does  send  them  then  ?  "  said  Constance. 

"Who  doos  ?     It's  Miss  Fliddy  Ringgan." 

"  Mamma  !  "  exclaimed  Constance  looking  up. 

"  What  does  she  have  to  do  with  it?  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"  There  don't  nobody  else  have  nothin'  to  deu  with  it — I  guess 
jhe's  pretty  much  the  hull,"  said  her  coadjutor.  "  Her  and  me 
vas  a  picking  'em  afore  sunrise." 

"  All  that  basketful!  " 

"  'Tain't  all  strawberries — there's  garden  sass  up  to  the  top." 

"  And  doos  she  send  that  too  ?  ' ' 

"She  sends  that  teu,"  said  Philetus  succinctly. 

"  But  hasn't  she  any  help  in  taking  care  of  the  garden?"  said 
Constance. 

Yes  marm — I  calculate  to  help  considerable  in  the  back  garden 
won't  let  no  one  into  the  front  where  she  grows  her  posies." 

"  But  where  is  Mr.  Hugh  ?  " 

"  He's  to  hum." 

"  But  has  he  nothing  to  do  with  all  this?  does  he  leave  it  all  te 
his  cousin?  " 


QUEECBY.  ««7 

*•  He's  to  fhe  mill." 

"And  Miss  Ringgan  manages  farm  and  garden  and  aft  ?•  said 
Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"She  doos,"  said  Philetus. 

And  receiving  a  gratuity  which  he  accepted  without  demonstra 
tion  of  any  kind  whatever,  the  basket-bearer  at  length  released 
moved  off. 

''  Poor  Fleda  !  "  said  Miss  Evelyn  as  he  disappeared  with  his 
load. 

"  She's  a  very  clever  girl."  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  dismissing  the  sub 
ject. 

"  She's  too  lovely  for  anything !  "  said  Constance.  "  Mr.  Carle 
ton,— if  you  will  just  imagine  we  are  in  China,  and  introduce  a  pah 
of  familiar  chop-sticks  into  this  basket,  I  shall  be  repaid  for  the 
loss  of  a  strawberry  by  the  expression  of  ecstasy  which  will  imme 
diately  spread  itself  over  your  features.  I  intend  to  patronize  the 
natural  mode  of  eating  in  future.  I  find  the  ends  of  my  fingers 
decidedly  odoriferous." 

He  smiled  a  little  as  he  complied  with  the  young  lady's  invita 
tion,  but  the  expression  of  ecstasy  did  not  come. 

"  Are  Mr.  Rossitur's  circumstances  so  much  reduced  ?"  he  said, 
drawing  nearer  to  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"  Do  you  know  them!  "  exclaimed  both  the  daughters  at  once. 

"  I  knew  Mrs.  Rossitur  very  well  some  years  ago,  when  she  was 
in  Paris." 

"They  are  all  broken  to  pieces,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  as  Mr. 
Carleton's  eye  went  back  to  her  for  his  answer  ; — "  Mr.  Rossitur 
failed  and  lost  everything — bankrupt — a  year  or  two  after  they 
came  home." 

"  And  what  has  he  been  doing  since  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  ! — trying  to  farm  it  here  ;  but  I  am  afraid  he  has 
not  succeeded  well — I  am  afraid  not.  They  don't  look  like  it.  Mrs. 
Rossitur  will  not  see  anybody,  and  I  don't  believe  they  have  done 
any  more  than  struggled  for  a  living  since  they  came  here." 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Rossitur  now?  " 

"  He  is  at  the  West  somewhere — Fleda  tells  me  he  is  engaged  in 
some  agencies  there  ;  but  I  doubt,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  shaking  her 
head  compassionately, — "there  is  more  in  the  name  of  it  thai 
anything  else.  He  has  gone  down  hill  sadly  since  his  misfortune? 
v  am  very  sorry  for  them. ' ' 

"  And  his  niece  takes  care  of  his  farm  in  the  meantime  ?" 

s*  Do  you  know  her? "  asked  both  the  Miss  Evelyns  again. 

"  I  can  hardly  say  that,"  he  replied.  "  I  had  such  a  pleasure 
formerly.  Do  I  understand  that  she  is  the  person  to  fill  Mr.  Rossi' 
tur's  place  when  he  is  away  ?" 

"So  she  says." 

"And  so  she  acts,"  said  Constance.  "I  wish  you  had  heard 
her  yesterday.  It  was  beyond  everything.  We  were  conversing 
very  amicably,  regarding  each  other  through  a  friendly  vista 
formed  by  the  sugar-bowl  and  tea-pot,  when  a  horrid  man,  that 
looked  as  if  he  had  slept  all  his  life  in  a  hay-cock  and  only  waked 
wp  to  turn  it  over,  stuck  his  head  in  and  immediately  introduced  a 
clover-field ;  and  Fleda  and  he  went  to  tumbling  about  the  cocks 


«68  QUEECffT. 

till  I  do  assure  you  I  was  deluded  into  a  momentary  belief  that 
iay -making  was  the  principal  end  of  human  nature,  and  looked 
<apon  myself  as  a  burden  to  society  ;  and  after  I  had  recovered  my 
locality  and  ventured  upon  a  sentence  of  gentle  commiseration  for 
Mtir  sufferings,  Fleda  went  off  into  an  eulogium  upon  the  intelli 
gence  of  hay-makers  in  general  and  the  strength  of  mind  barbar- 
'ans  are  universally  known  to  possess." 

The  manner  still  more  than  the  matter  of  this  speech  was  beyond 
:he  withstanding  of  any  good-natured  muscles,  though  the  gentle- 
•  ui's  smile  was  a  grave  one  and  quickly  lost  in  gravity.  Mrs. 
v,  eiyn  laughed  and  reproved  in  a  breath  ;  but  the  laugh  was  ad 
miring  and  the  reproof  was  stimulative.  The  bright  eye  of  Con- 
nance  danced  in  return  with  the  mischievous  delight  of  a  horse 
that  has  slipped  his  bridle  and  knows  you  can't  catch  him. 

"And  this  has  been  her  life  ever  since  Mr.  Rossitur  lost  his 
properly  ?" 

"  Entirely, — sacrificed! — "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  with  a  compassion 
ately  resigned  air; — "education,  advantages  and  everything  given 
up;  and  set  down  here  where  she  lias  seen  nobody  from  year's  end 
to  year's  end  but  the  country  people  about — very  good  people — but 
not  the  kind  of  people  she  ought  to  have  been  brought  up  among." 

"Oh  mamma!"  said  the  eldest  Miss  Evelyn  in  a  deprecatory 
tone, — "  you  shouldn't  talk  so — it  isn't  right — I  am  sure  she  is  very 
nice — nicer  now  than  anybody  else  I  know  ;  and  clever  too." 

"  Nice!  "  said  Edith.     "  I  wish  /had  such  a  sister!  " 

"  She  is  a  good  girl — a  very  good  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  in  a 
tone  which  would  have  deterred  any  one  from  wishing  to  make  her 
acquaintance. 

"  And  happy,  mamma — Fleda  don't  look  miserable — she  seems 
perfectly  happy  and  contented!  " 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn, — "she  has  got  accustomed  to  this 
state  of  things — it's  her  life — she  makes  delicious  bread  and  pud 
dings  for  her  aunt,  and  raises  vegetables  for  market,  and  oversees 
her  uncle's  farmers,  and  it  isn't  a  hardship  to  her  ;  she  finds  her 
happiness  in  it.  She  is  a  very  good  girl !  but  she  might  have  been 
Tiada  something  much  better  than  a  farmer's  wife." 

"  You  may  set  your  mind  at  rest  on  that  subject,  rnamma,"  said 
..onstance,  still  using  her  chop-sticks  with  great  complacency  ;— 

"t's  rrly  opinion  that  the  farmer  is  not  in  existence  who  is  blessed 
..tii  such  a  conjugal  futurity.  I  think  Fleda's  strong  pastoral 
astes  are  likely  to  develop  themselves  in  a  new  direction." 

Mr?.  Evelyn  looked  with  a  partial  smile  at  the  pretty  features 
;#hich  the  business  of  eating  the  strawberries  displayed  in  sundry 
aovel  and  picturesque  points  of  view  ;  and  asked  what  she 
meant  ? 

"I  don't  know, — "  said  Constance,  intent  upon  her  basket, — "  I 
Ceel  a  friend's  distress  for  Mr.  Thorn — it's  all  your  doing,  mamma, 
— you  won't  be  able  to  lookf  him  in  the  face  when  we  have  Fleda 
next  fall — I  am  sure  I  shall  not  want  to  look  at  his !  He'll  be  too 
savage  for  anything." 

"Mr.  Thorn  !  "  said  Mr.  Carleton. 

'Yes,"  said  Mrs  Evelyn  in  an  indulgent  to^e,— "h«?  was  very 
attentive  to  her  last  winter  when  sl.e  was  with  us,  but  she  went 


QUEECHY.  59* 

away  before  anything  was  decided.     I  don't  think  he  has  forgotten 

m:1 

"  }  shouldn't  think  anybody  could  forget  her,"  said  Editii. 

"  I  am  confident  he  would  be  here  at  this  moment,"  said  Con 
stance,  "  if  he  wasn't  in  London." 

"  ISut  what  is  'all  mamma's  doing,'  Constance?"  inquired  her 
sister. 

"  The  destruction  of  the  peace  of  the  whole  family  of  Thorns — I 
^aouldn't  sleep  sound  in  my  bed  if  I  were  she  with  such  a  reflec 
lion.     I    look   forward   to   heart-rending   scenes, — with  a  very  dis° 
curbed  state  of  mind." 

"  But  what  have  I  done,  my  child?  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"  Didn't  you  .introduce  your  favorite  Mr.  Olmney  to  Miss  Ring- 
ga  i  last  summer  ?  I  don't  know  ! — her  native  delicacy  shrunk  from 
making  any  disclosures,  and  of  course  trie  tongue  of  friendship  is  si 
lent, — but  they  were  out  ages  yesterday  while  I  was  waiting  for  her, 
and  their  parting  at  the  gate  was — I  feel  myself  unequal  to  the  task 
of  describing  it !  "  said  Constance  ecstatically  ; — "and  she  was  in 
the  most  elevated  tone  of  mind  during  our  whole  interview  after 
ward,  and  took  all  my  brilliant  remarks  with  as  much  coolness  as  if 
they  had  been  drops  of  rain — more,  I  presume,  considering  that  it 
was  hay-time." 

"  Did  you  see  him?  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"  Only  at  that  impracticable  distance,  mamma  ;  but  I  introduced 
his  name  afterward  in  my  usual  happy  manner  and  I  found  that 
Miss  Ringgan's  cheeks  were  by  no  means  indifferent  to  it.  I  didn't 
dare  go  any  further." 

"  I  am  very  glad  of  it !  I  hope  it  is  so  !  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  ener- 
get'cally.  "  It  would  be  a  most  excellent  match.  He  is  a  charming 
yourtg  man  and  would  make  her  very  happy." 

<•  You  are  exciting  gloomy  feelings  in  Mr.  Carleton's  mind, 
mamma,  by  your  felicitous  suggestions.  Mr.  Carleton, — did  your 
ears  receive  a  faint  announcement  of  ham  arid  eggs  which  went 
quite  ihrough  and  through  mine  just  now  ?  " 

He  bowed  and  handed  the  young  lady  in  ;  but  Constance  declared 
that  though  he  sat  beside  her  and  took  care  of  her  at  breakfast  he 
had  on  one  of  his  intangible  fits  which  drove  her  to  the  last  extreme 
~>f  impatience,  and  captivation. 

The  sun  was  not  much  more  than  two  hours  high  the  next  morn 
ing  when  a  rider  was  slowly  approaching  Mr.  Rossitur's  house  frorc 
the  bridge,  walking-  his  horse  like  a  man  who  wished  to  look  welt  a'; 
•11  he  was  passing  He  paused  behind  a  clump  of  locusts  and  rose- 
acacias  in  the  corner  of  the  courtyard  as  a  figure  bonneted  and 
gloved  cam~  out  of  the  house  and  began  to  be  busy  among  the 
rose-bushes.  Another  figure  presently  appeared  at  the  hall  door 
and  called  o  ai. 

"  Fleda!— " 

"Well  Barby— " 

This  second  voice  was  hardly  raised,  but  it  came  from  so  much 
nearer  that  the  words  could  be  distinctly  heard. 

'J  Mr.  Skillcorn  wants  to  know  if  you're  going  to  fix  the  flowers 
%v  him  to  carry  ?" 

*  They're  not  ready,  and  it  won't  do  for  him  to  wait — Mr.  Sweet 
19 


290 

must  send  for  them  if  he  wants  them.  Philetus  must  make  hasui 
back,  for  you  know  Mr.  Douglass  wants  him  to  help  in  the  ba>n 
meadow.  Lucas  won't  be  here,  and  now  the  weather  is  so  fine  I 
want  to  make  haste  with  the  hay." 

"  Well,  will  you  have  the  samp  for  breakfast?  " 

"  No — we'll  keep  that  for  dinner.  I'll  come  in  and  poach  some 
eggs,  Barby, — if  you'll  make  me  some  thin  pieces  of  toast — and 
call  me  when  it's  time.  Thin,  Barby." 

The  gentleman  turned  his  horse  and  galloped  back  to  Monte* 
(poole. 

Some  disappointment  was  created  among  a  portion  of  Mr.  Sweet's 
guests  that  afternoon  by  the  intelligence  that  Mr.  Carleton  pur 
posed  setting  off  the  next  morning  to  join  his  English  friends  at 
Saratoga  on  their  way  to  the  Falls  and  Canada.  Which  purpose 
was  duly  carried  into  effect. 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

With  your  leave,  sir,  an'  there  were  no  more  men  living  upon  the  face  ol 
the  earth,  I  should  not  fancy  him,  by  St.  George. — EVERY  MAN  OUT  ol 
HIS  HUMOR. 

OCTOBER  had  come  ;  a  fair  season  and  a  fine  harvest  had  enabled 
Fleda  to  ease  her  mind  by  sending  a  good  remittance  to  Dr.  Greg- 
c^y.  The  family  were  still  living  upon  her  and  Hugh's  energies. 
Mr.  Rossitur  talked  of  coming  home,  that  was  all. 

It  sometimes  happened  that  a  pause  in  the  urgency  of  business 
permitted  Hugh  to  take  a  day's  holiday.  One  of  these  falling  soon 
after  the  frosts  had  opened  the  burrs  of  the  chestnut  trees  and  the 
shells  of  the  hickories,  Fleda  seized  upon  it  for  a  nutting  frolic. 
They  took  Philetus  and  went  up  to  the  fine  group  of  trees  on  the 
mountain,  the  most  difficult  to  reach  and  the  best  worth  reaching  of 
all  their  nut  wood.  The  sport  was  very  fine  ;  and  after  spoiling  the 
trees  Philetus  was  left  to  "  shuck  "  and  bring  home  a  load  of  the 
fruit ;  while  Fleda  and  Hugh  took  their  way  slowly  down  the  moun 
tain.  She  stopped  him,  as  usual,  on  the  old  lookout  place.  The 
leaves  were  just  then  in  their  richest  coloring  ;  and  the  October  sky 
Jn  its  strong  vitality  seemed  to  fill  all  inanimate  nature  with  the 
breath  af  life.  If  ever,  then  on  that  day,  to  the  fancy,  "  the  little 
hills  rejoiced  on  every  side."  The  woods  stood  thick  with  honors, 
and  earth  lay  smiling  under  the  tokens  of  the  summer's  harvest  and 
the  promise  for  the  coming  year ;  and  the  wind  came  in  gusts  over 
the  lower  country  and  up  the  hill-side  with  a  hearty  good-will  that 
blew  away  all  vapors,  physical  and  mental,  from  its  path,  bidding 
everything  follow  its  example  and  be  up  and  doing.  Fleda  drew 
a  long  breath  or  two  that  seemed  to  recognize  its  freshening  power. 

"  How  long  it  seems,"  she  said, — "  how  very  long— since  I  was 
here  with  Mr.  Carleton  ;  just  nine  years  ago.  How  changed  every 
thing  is!  I  was  a  little  child  then.  It  seems  such  an  age  ago  ! — " 

"  It  is  very  odd  he  did'nt  come  to  see  us,"  said  Hugh. 
He  did — don't  you  know? — the  very  next  day  after  v*e  heard 
here — when  most  unluckily  I  was  up  at  aunt  Miriam's." 

"  I  should  think  he  might  have  come  again,  considering  whftl 
friends  you  used  to  be." 


291 

"  I  dare  say  he  would  if  he  had  not  left  Mqntepoole  so  soon.  But 
dear  Hugh  !  I  was  a  mere  child — how  could  he  remember  me 
mi>ch." 

••  You  remember  him,"  said  Hugh. 

"  Ah  but  I  have  good  reason.  Besides  I  never  forget  anything. 
I  would  have  given  a  great  deal  to  see  him — if  I  had  it." 

"  I  wish  the  Evelyns  had  staid  longer,"  said  Hugh.  "  I  think  you 
have  wanted  something  to  brighten  you  up.  They  did  you  a  great 
deal  of  good  last  year.  I  am  afraid  all  this  taking  care  of  Philetus 
and  Earl  Douglass  is  too  much  for  you." 

Fleda  gave  him  a  very  bright  smile,  half  affection,  half  fun. 

"Don't  you  admire  my  management?"  said  she.  "Because  I 
do.  Philetus  is  firmly  pen  uaded  that  he  is  an  invaluable  assistant 
to  me  in  the  mystery  of  gardening  ;  and  the  origin  of  Earl  Doug 
lass's  new  ideas  is  so  enveloped  in  mist  that  he  does  not  himself 
know  where  they  come  from.  It  was  rich  to  hear 'him  the  other  day 
descanting  to  Lucas  upon  the  evil  effects  of  earthing  up  corn  and 
the  advantages  of  curing  hay  in  cocks,  as  to  both  which  matters 
Lucas  is  a  thorough  unbeliever,  and  Earl  was  a  year  ago." 

"  But  that  doesn't  hinder  your  looking  pale  and  thin,  and  a  greaj 
deal  soberer  than  I  like  to  see  you,"  said  Hugh.  "  You  want  a. 
change,  I  know.  1  don't  know  how  you  are  to  get  it.  I  wish  they 
would  send  for  you  to  New  York  again." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  should  want  to  go  if  they  did,"  said  Fleda. 

"They  don't  raise  my  spirits,  Hugh.  1  am  amused  sometimes, — 
I  can't  help  that, — but  such  excessive  gayety  rather  makes  me 
shrink  within  myself;  I  am  too  out  of  tone  with  it.  I  never  feeV 
more  absolutely  quiet  than  sometimes  when  I  am  laughing  at 
Conttance  Evelyn's  mad  sallies — and  sometimes  I  cannot  laugh  at 
them.  I  do  not  know  what  they  must  think  of  me  ;  it  is  what 
they  can  have  no  means  of  understanding." 

"  I  wish  you  didn't  understand  it  either,  Fleda." 

"  But  you  shouldn't  say  that.  I  am  happier  than  they  are,  now, 
Hugh, — now  that  you  are  better, — with  all  their  means  of  happi 
ness.  They  know  nothing  of  our  quiet  enjoyments  ;  they  must  live 
\n  a  whirl  or  they  would  think  they  are  not  living  at  all ;  and  I  do 
flot  believe  that  all  New  York  can  give  them  the  real  pleasure  that 
I  have  in  such  a  day  as  this.  They  would  see  almost  nothing  in  all 
this  beauty  that  my  eyes  '  drink  in,'  as  Cowper  says  ;  and  they 
would  be  certain  to  quarrel  with  the  wind,  that  to  me  is  like  the 
shake  of  an  old  friend  s  hand.  Delicious! — "  said  Fleda,  as  the 
>yind  rewarded  this  eu'ogium  with  a  very  hearty  shake  indeed. 

"  I  believe  you  would  make  friends  with  everything,  Fleda,"  said 
Hugh  laughing. 

"  The  wind  is  always  that  to  me,"  said  Fleda, — "  not  always  in 
such  a  cheerful  mood  as  to-day,  though.  It  talks  to  me  often  of  a 
thousand  old-time  things  and  sighs  over  them  with  me — a  most 
sympathizing  friend  !— but  to-day  he  invites  me  to  a  waltz- 
Come  ! " 

And  pulling  Hugh  after  her  away  she  went  down  the  rocky  path, 
with  a  step  too  light  to  care  for  the  stones  ;  the  little  feet  capering 
down  the  mountain  with  a  disdain  of  the  ground  that  made  Huglr 


292  QUEECHY. 

smile  to  see  her  ;  and  eyes  dancing  for  company  ;  till  they 
the  lower  woodland. 

"  A  most  spirited  waltz  !  "  said  Hugh. 

"And  a  most  slack  partner.  Why  didn't  you  keep  me  com 
pany?  " 

"  I  never  was  made  for  waltzing,"  said  Hugh  shaking  his  heacj. 

"  Not  to  the  tune  of  the  North  wind  ?  That  has  done  me  good 
Hugh." 

"  So  I  should  judge,  by  your  cheeks." 

"  Poverty  need  not  always  make  people  poor,"  said  Fleda  taking 
breath  and  his  arm  together.  "  You  and  I  are  rich,  Hugh." 

"  And  our  riches  cannot  take  to  themselves  wings  and  fly  away," 
said  Hugfc. 

"  No,  but  besides  those  riches — there,  are  the  pleasures  of  the  eye 
and  the  mind  that  one  may  enjoy  everywhere — everywhere  in  the 
country  at  least — unless  poverty  bear  one  down  very  hard  ;  and 
they  are  some  of  the  purest  and  most  satisfying  of  any.  O  the 
blessing  of  a  good  education!  how  it  makes  one  independent  of 
circumstances." 

"And  circumstances  are  education  too,"  said  Hugh  smiling. 
"  I  dare  say  we  should  not  appreciate  our  mountains  and  woods  so 
well  if  we  had  had  our  old  plenty  of  everything  else." 

"  I  always  loved  them,"  said  Fleda.  "  But  what  good  company 
they  have  been  to  us  for  years  past,  Hugh  ; — to  me  especially  ;  I 
have  more  reason  to  love  them." 

They  walked  on  quietly  and  soberly  to  the  brow  of  the  table-land, 
where  they  parted  ;  Hugh  being  obliged  to  go  home,  and  Fleda 
wishing  to  pay  a  visit  to  her  aunt  Miriam. 

She  turned  off  alone  to  take  the  way  to  the  high  road  and  went 
softly  on,  no  longer  certainly  in  the  momentary  spirits  with  which  she 
had  shaken  hands  with  the  wind  and  skipped  down  the  mountain  ; 
but  feeling,  and  thankful  that  she  felt,  a  cheerful  patience  to  tread 
the  dusty  highway  of  life. 

The  old  lady  had  been  rather  ailing,  and  from  one  or  two  expres 
sions  she  had  let  fall  Fleda  could  not  help  thinking  that  she  looked 
upon  her  ailments  with  a  much  more  serious  eye  than  anybody  else 
thought  was  called  for.  It  did  not  however  appear  to-day.  She 
was  not  worse,  and  Fleda.'s  slight  anxious  feeling  could  find  nothing 
to  justify  it,  if  it  were  not  the  very  calm  and  quietly  happy  face  and 
manner  of  the  old  lady  ;  and  that  if  it  h^d  something  to  alarm,  did 
much  more  to  sooth.  Fleda  had  sat  with  ber  a  long  time,  patience 
and  cheerfulness  all  the  while  unconsciously  growing  in  her  com 
pany  ;  when  catching  up  her  bonnet  with  q  s<jdden  haste  very  un 
like  her  usual  collectedness  of  manner  P  !eda  kissed  her  aunt  and 
was  rushing  awray. 

"  But  stop  ! — where  are  you  going,  Fleda?  " 

"  Home,  aunt  Miriam— I  must — don't  keep  me  !  " 

"  But  what  are  you  going  that  way  for  ?  you  cnn't  go  home  that 
way?  " 

"  Yes  I  can." 

"  How?" 

"  I  can  cross  the  blackberry  bill  behind  the  barn  and  then  over 
the  east  hill,  and  then  there's  nothing  but  the  waterless  meadow.' 


qUEECHY.  293 

"  i  *ha'n't  let  you  go  that -way  alone — sit  down  and  tell  me  what 
you  mean, — what  is  this  desperate  hurry?" 

But  with  equal  precipitation  Fleda  had  cast  her  bonnet  out  of 
'right  behind  the  table,  and  the  next  moment  turned  with  the  utmost 
possible  quietness  to  shake  hands  with  Mr.  Olmney.  Aunt  Miriam 
haf1  presence  of  mind  enough  to  make  no  remark  and  receive  the 
young  gentleman  with  her  usual  dignity  and  kindness. 

He  staid  some  time,  but  Fleda' s  hurry  seemed  to  have  forsakeu 
tier.  She  had  seized  upon  an  interminable  long  grey  stocking  hei 
aunt  was  knitting,  and  sat  in  the  corner  working  at  it  most  dili 
gently,  without  raising  her  eyes  unless  spoken  to. 

"  Do  you  give  yourself  no  rest  at  home  or  abroad,  Miss  Fleda  ? ' 
said  the  gentleman. 

"  Put  that  stocking  down,  Fleda,"  said  her  aunt ;  "  it  is  in  no 
hurry." 

"  I  like  to  do  it,  aunt  Miriam." 

But  she  felt  with  warming  cheeks  that  she  did  not  like  to  do  it 
•with  two  people  sitting  still  and  looking  at  her.  The  gentleman 
presently  rose. 

"  Don't  go  till  we  have  had  tea,  Mr.  Olmney,"  said  Mrs.  Plum- 
field. 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am, — I  cannot  stay,  I  believe, — unless  Miss 
Fleda  will  let  me  take  care  of  her  down  the  hill  by  and  by." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Olmney,"  said  Fleda,  "  but  I  am  not  going 
home  before  night,  unless  they  send  for  me." 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  he  looking  at  her,  "that  the  agricultural 
turn  has  proved  an  over-match  for  your  energies." 

"The  farm  don't  complain  of  me,  does  it?  "  said  Fleda,  looking 
up  at  him  with  a  comic  grave  expression  of  countenance. 

"  No,"  said  he  laughing, — "  certainly  not  ;*<but — if  you  will  for 
give  me  for  saying  so — I  think  you  complain  of  it, — tacitly, — and 
that  will  raise  a  good  many  complaints  in  other  quarters — if  you  do 
not  take  care  of  yourself." 

He  shook  hands  and  left  them  ;  and  Mrs.  Plumfield  sat  silently 
looking  at  Fleda,  who  on  her  part  looked  at  nothing  but  the  grey 
stocking. 

What  is  all  this,  Fleda?" 

What  is  what,  aunt  Miriam?"  said  Fleda,  picking  up  a  stitch 
\«vi  h  desperate  diligence. 

4  Why  did  you  want  to  run  away  from  Mr.  Olmney?  " 
'  I  didn't  wish  to  be  delayed — I  wanted  to  get  home." 
'  Then  why  wouldn't  you  let  him  go  home  with  you?  " 
'  I  liked  better  to  go  alone,  aunt  Miriam." 
;  Don't  you  like  him,  Fleda  ?  " 
Certainly,  aunt  Miriam — very  much.' 
I  think  he  likes  you,  Fleda,"  said  her  aunt  smiling. 
1 1  am  very  sorry  for  it,"  said  Fleda  with  great  gravity. 

Mrs.  Plumfield  looked  at  her  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence  and  then 
said, 

"  Fleda,  love,  come  over  here  and  sit  by  me  and  tell  me  what 
you  mean.  Why  are  you  sorry?  It  has  given  me  a  great  deal  of 
pleasure  to  think  of  it." 


294  QUEECHY. 

But  Fleda  aid  not  budge  from  her  seat  or  her  stocking  and  seemed 
tongue-tied.  Mrs.  Plumrield  pressed  for  an  answer. 

"  Because,  aunt  Miriam,"  said  Fleda,  with  the  prettiest  red 
cheeks  in  the  world  but  speaking  very  clearly  and  steadily, — "  my 
liking  only  goes  to  a  point  which  I  am  afraid  will  not  satisfy  either 
him  or  you." 

"  But  why  ? — it  will  go  further." 

'•  No  ma'am." 

"  Why  not?  why  do  you  say  so?" 

31  Because  I  must  if  you  ask  me." 

"  But  what  can  be  more  excellent  and  estimable,  Fleda? — who 
Could  be  more  worth  liking  ?  I  should  have  thought  Lie  would  just 
please  you.  He  is  one  of  the  most  lovely  young  men  I  have  ever 
seen." 

4 '  Dear  aunt  Miriam!"  said  Fleda  looking  up  beseechingly, — 
"  why  should  we  talk  about  it?  " 

"  Because  I  want  to  understand  you,  Fleda,  and  to  be  sure  that 
you  understand  yourself." 

"  I  do,"  said  Fleda,  quietly  and  with  a  quivering  lip. 

"  What  is  there  that  you  dislike  about  Mr.  Olmney  r  " 

"  Nothing  in  the  world,  aunt  Miriam." 

•'  Then  what  is  the  reason  you  cannot  like  him  enough  ?  " 

"  Because,  aunt  Miriam,"  said  Fleda  speaking  in  desperation, — 
*•  there  isn't  enough  of  him.  He  is  "very  good  and  excellent  in 
every  way — nobody  feels  that  more  than  1  do — I  don't  want  to  say 
a  wqrd  against  him — but  I  do  not  think  he  has  a  very  strong  mind  ; 
and  he  isn't  cultivated  enough." 

"  But  you  cannot  have  everything,  Fleda." 

"  No  ma'am,— I  don't  expect  it." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  set  up  too  high  a  standard  for  yourself," 
said  Mrs.  Plumrield,  looking  rather  troubled. 

"  I  don't  think  that  is  possible,  aunt  Miriam." 

"But  I  am  afraid  it  will  prevent  your  ever  liking  anybody  ?" 

"  It  will  not  p-event  my  liking  the  friends  1  have  already — it 
may  prevent  my  leaving  them  for  somebody  else,"  said  Fleda,  with 
a  gravity  that  was  touching  in  its  expression. 

"  But  Mr.  Olmney  is  sensible, — and  well  educated." 

"  Yes,  but  his  tastes  are  not.  He  could  not  all  enter  into  a  great 
many  tilings  that  give  me  the  most  pleasure.  I  do  not  think  he 
quite  understands  above  half  of  what  I  say  to  him." 

"Are  you  sure?  I  know  he  admires  you,  Fleda." 

"  Ah  but  that  is  only  half  enough,  you  see,  aunt  Miriam,  unless 
I  could  admire  him  too." 

Mrs.  Plumfield  looked  at  her  in  some  difficulty  ; — Mr.  Olmney 
was  not  the  only  one,  clearly,  whose  powers  of  comprehension  were 
not  equal  to  the  subject. 

"Fleda,"  said  her  aunt  inquiringly, — "is  there  anybody  else 
that  has  put  Mr.  Olmney  out  of  your  head  ?  " 

"Nobody  in  the  world!  "  exclaimed  Fleda  with  a  frank  look 
and  tone  of  astonishment  at  the  question,  and  cheeks  coloring  as 
promptly.  "  How  could  you  ask  ? — But  he  never  was  in  my  head. 
aunt  Miriam." 

"Mr.  Thorn?"  said  Mrs.  Plumfield. 


qUEECHT.  205 

"  Mr.  Thorn  !  "  said  Fleda  indignantly.  "  Don't  you  know  me 
better  than  that,  aunt  Miriam  ?  But  you  do  not  know  him." 

"  I  believe  I  know  you,  dear  Fleda,  but  I  heard  he  had  paid  you 
a  great  deal  of  attention  last  year  ;  and  you  would  not  have  been  the 
first  unsuspecting  nature  that  has  been  mistaken." 

Fleda  was  silent,  flushed  and  disturbed  ;  and  Mrs.  Plumfield 
was  silent  and  meditating  ;  when  Hugh  came  in.  He  came  to  fetch 
Fleda  home.  Dr.  Gregory  had  arrived.  In  haste  again  Fleda 
sought  her  bonnet,  and  exchanging  a  more  than  usually  wistful 
and  affectionate  kiss  and  embrace  with  her  aunt,  set  off  with  Hugh 
down  the  hill. 

Hugh  had  a  great  deal  to  say  to  her  all  the  way  home,  of  which 
Fleda's  ears  alonestook  the  benefit,  for  her  understanding  received 
none  of  it ;  and  when  she  at  last  came  into  the  breakfast- room 
where  the  doctor  was  sitting,  the  fact  of  his  being  there  was  the 
only  one  which  had  entered  her  mind. 

"  Here  she  is! — I  declare  !  "  said  the  doctor,  holding  her  back 
to  look  at  her  after  the  first  greetings  had  passed, — "  I'll  be  hanged 
if  you  ain't  handsome  ! — Now  what's  the  use  of  pinking  your 
cheeks  any  more  at  that, , as  if  you  didn't  know  it  before  ? — eh  ?  " 

"  I  will  always  do  my  best  to  deserve  your  good  opinion,  sir," 
said  Fleda  laughing. 

"  Well  sit  down  now,"  said  he  shaking  his  head,  "  and  pour  me 
out  a  cup  of  tea — your  mother  can't  make  it  right." 

And  sipping  his  tea,  for  some  time  the  old  doctor  sat  listening 
to  Mrs.  Rossitur  and  eating  bread  and  butter  ;  saying  little,  but 
casting  a  very  frequent  glance  at  the  figure  opposite  him  behind 
the  tea-board. 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  he  after  a  while,  "that  your  care  for  my 
good  opinion  won't  outlast  an  occasion.  Is  that  the  way  you  look 
for  every  day  ?  " 

The  color  came  with  the  smile  ;  but  the  old  doctor  looked  at 
her  in  a  way  that  made  the  tears  come  too.  He  turned  his  eyes 
to  Mrs.  Rossitur  for  an  explanation. 

"She  is  well,"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur  fondly, — "  she  has  been  very 
well — except  her  old  headaches  now  and  then  ; — I  think  she  has 
grown  rather  thin  lately." 

"Thin  !  "  said  the  old  doctor, — "  etherealized  to  a  mere  abstract 
of  herself ;  only  that  is  a  very  bad  figure,  for  an  abstract  should 
.have  all  the  bone  and  muscle  of  the  subject  ;  and  I  should  sa}> 
you  had  little  left  but  pure  spirit.  You  are  the  best  proof  I  evei 
saw  of  the  principle  of  the  homcepaths — I  see  now  that  though  a 
little  corn  may  fatten  a  man,  a  great  deal  may  be  the  death  of 
him." 

"  But  I  have  tried  it  both  ways,  uncle  Orrin,"  said  Fleda  laugh 
ing.  "  I  ought  to  be  a  happy  medium  between  plethora  and  starva 
tion.  I  am  pretty  substantial,  what  there  is  of  me." 

"Substantial!"  said  the  doctor;  "you  look  as  substantial  a 
personage  as  your  old  friend  the  '  faire  Una/  just  about.  Well 
prepare  yourself,  gentle  Saxon,  to  ride  home  with  me  the  day 
after  to-morrow.  I'll  try  a  little  humanizing  regimen  with  you," 

11  I  don't  think  that  is  possible,  uncle  Orrin,"  said  Fleda  gently. 
« We'll  talk  about  the  possibility  afterward — at  present  all  yoa 


296  QUEECHY. 

have  to  do  is  to  get  ready.  If  you  raise  difficulties  you  will  find 
me  a  very  Hercules  to  clear  them  away — I'm  substantial  enough  I 
can  tell  you — so  it's  just  as  well  to  spare  yourself  and  me  the 
trouble." 

"There  are  no  difficulties,"  Mrs.  Rossitur  and  Hugh  said  both  at 
once. 

"'I  knew  there  weren't.  Put  a  pair  or  two  of  clean  stockings 
in  your  trunk — that's  all  you  want — Mrs.  Pritchard  and  I  will  find 
the  rest.  There's  the  people  in  Fourteenth  street  want  you  the  first 
t>f  November  and  I  want  you  all  the  time  till  then,  and  longer  too. 
—Stop — I've  got  a  missive  of  some  sort  here  for  you — " 

He  foisted  out  of  his  breast-pocket  a  little  package  of  notes  ,  one 
from  Mrs.  Evelyn  and  one  from  Florence  begging  Fleda  to  come  to 
them  at  the  time  the  doctor  had  named  ;  the  third  from  Constance. 

'•'  MY  DARLING  LITTLE  FLEDA, 

"  I  am  dying  to  see  you — so  pack  up  and  come  down  with 
Dr.  Gregory  if  the  least  spark  of  regard  for  me  is  slumbering  in 
your  breast — Mamma  and  Florence  are  writing  to  beg  you, — but 
though  an  insignificant  member  of  the  family,  considering  that  in 
stead  of  being  «  next  to  head  '  only  little  Edith  prevents  my  being 
at  the  less  dignified  end  of  this  branch  of  the  social  system, — I 
could  not  prevail  upon  myself  to  let  the  representations  of  my  re 
spected  elders  go  unsupported  by  mine — especially  as  I  felt  per- 
suaded  of  the  superior  efficacy  of  the  motives  I  had  it  in  my  power 
to  present  to  your  truly  philantliropical  mind. 

"  I  am  in  a  state  of  mind  that  baffles  description — Mr.  Carleton 
is  going  home  !  ! 

"I  have  not  worn  earrings  in  my  ears  for  a  fortnight — my  per* 
sonal  appearance  is  become  a  matter  of  indifference  to  me — any 
description  of  mental  exertion  is  excruciating — I  sit  constantly  lis 
tening  for  the  ringing  of  the  door-bell,  and  when  it  sounds  I  rush 
frantically  to  the  head  of  the  staircase  and  look  over  to  see  who  it  is 
— the  mere  sight  of  pen  and  ink  excites  delirious  ideas — judge  what 
what  I  suffer  in  writing  to  you — 

"  To  make  the  matter  worse  (if  it  could  be)  I  have  been  informed 
privately  that  he  is  going  home  to  crown  at  the  altar  of  Hymen  an 
old  attachment  to  one  of  the  loveliest  of  all  England's  daughters 
Conceive  the  complication  of  my  feelings!- 

"  Nothing  is  left  me  but  the  resources  of  friendship — so  come 
darling  Fleda,  before  a  barrier  of  ice  interposes  itself  between  my 
chilled  heart  and  your  sympathy. 

"  Mr.  Thorn's  state  would  move  my  pity  if  I  were  capable  of  be 
ing  moved  by  anything — by  this  you  will  comprehend  he  is  re 
turned.  He  has  been  informed  by  somebody  rhat  there  is  a  wolf  in 
sheep's  clothing  prowling  abbut  Queechy,  and  his  head  is  filled 
with  the  idea  that  you  have  fallen  a  victim,  of  which  in  my  calmer 

moments  I  have  in  vainxendeavored  to  dispossess  him Every 

inorning  we  are  wakened  up  at  an  unseasonable  hour  by  a  furious 
ringing  at  the  door-bell — Joe  Manton  pulls  off  his  nightcap  and 
slowly  descending  the  stairs  opens  the  door  and  finds  Mr.  Thorn, 
wbo  enquires  distractedly  whether  Misc  Ringgan  has  arrivtd  ;  awl 
being  answered  in  the  negative  gloomily  walks  off  toward  the  Eatt 


QUEECHY.  397 

river — Th%  state  of  anxiety  in  which  his  mother  is  thereby  kept  is 
rapidly  depriving  her  of  all  her  flesh — but  we  have  directed  Joe 
lately  to  ref>ly  '  no  sir,  but  she  is  expected/ — upon  which  Mr.  Thorn 
regularly  smiles  faintly  and  rewards  the  '  following  piece  '  with  a 
quarter  dollar — 

"So  make  haste,  dear  Fleda,  or  I  shall  feel  that  we  are  acting 
the  part  of  innocent  swindlers. 

"C.  E." 

There  was  but  one  voice  at  home  on  the  point  whether  Fled* 
jfeould  go.  So  she  went. 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

Host.     Now,  my  young  guest !  methinks  you're  allycholy ;  I  pray 

you,  why  is  it  ? 
Jul,     Marry,  mine  host,  because  I  cannot  be  merry. 

Two  GENTLEMEN  OB  VERCNA. 

SOME  nights  after  their  arrival  the  doctor  and  Fleda  were  seated 
at  tea  in  the  little  snug  old-fashioned  back  parlor,  where  the  doc 
tor's  nicest  of  housekeepers,  Mrs.  Pritchard,  had  made  it  ready  for 
them.  In  general  Mrs.  Pritchard  herself  poured  it  out  for  the  doc 
tor,  but  she  descended  most  cheerfully  from  her  post  of  elevation 
whenever  Fleda  was  there  to  fill  it. 

The  doctor  and  Fleda  sat  cosily  looking  at  each  other  across  the 
toast  and  chipped  beef,  their  glances  grazing  the  tea-urn  which  was 
just  on  one  side  of  their  range  of  vision.  A  comfortable  Liverpool- 
coal  fire  in  a  state  of  repletion  burned  away  indolently  and  gave 
everything  else  in  the  room  somewhat  of  its  own  look  of  sonsy  in 
dependence.  Except  perhaps  the  delicate  creature  at  whom  the 
doctor  between  sips  of  his  tea  took  rather  wistful  observations. 

"When  are  you  going  to  Mrs.  Evelyn?  "he  said  breaking  the 
silence. 

"  They  say  next  week,  sir." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  of  it !  "  said  the  doctor. 

"  Glad  of  it?  "  said  Fleda  smiling.  "  Do  you  want  to  get  rid  of 
me,  uncle  Orrin?" 

"  Yes  !  "  said  he.     "  This  isn't  the  right  place  for  you.     You  ar< 
DO  much  alone." 

"No  indeed,  sir.  I  have  been  reading  voraciously,  and  enjoying 
myself  as  much  as  possible.  I  would  quite  as  lieve  be  here  as 
there,  putting  you  out  of  the  question." 

"I  wouldn't  as  lieve  have  you,"  said  he  shaking  his  head. 
"  What  were  you  musing  about  before  tea?  your  face  gave  me  the 
heart-ache." 

"My  face!"  sajd  Fleda,  smiling,  while  an  instant  flush  of  the 
eyes  answered  him, — "  what  was  the  matter  with  my  face?  " 

"  Tiiat  is  the  very  thing  I  want  to  know." 

"Before  tea? — I  was  only  thinking, — "  said  Fleda,  her  look 
g\»_.^  back  to  the  fire  from  association, — "  thinking  of  different 
things — not  disagreeably — taking  a  kind  of  bird's  eye  view  of 
things,  as  one  does  sometimes." 

"I  don't  believe  you  ever  take  other  than  a  bird's  eye  view  a 


999  qUEECHY. 

anything,"  said  her  uncle.  "  But  what  were  you  viewing  just  the*, 
my  little  Saxon?  " 

"I  was  thinking  of  them  at  home,"  said  Fleda  smiftng  thought" 
fully, — "  and  I  somehow  had  perched  myself  on  a  point  of  observ 
ation  and  was  taking  one  of  those  wider  views  which  are  always 
rather  sobering." 

"Views  of  what?" 

"Of  life,  sir." 

"  As  how  ?  "  said  the  doctor. 

"  How  near  the  end  is  to  the  beginning,  and  how  short  the  space 
between,  and  how  little  the  ups  and  clowns  of  it  will  matter  if  w« 
take  the  right  road  and  get  home." 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  the  doctor. 

But  Fleda  knew  him  too  well  to  take  his  interjection  otherwise 
than  most  kindly.  And  indeed  though  he  whirled  round  and  eat 
his  toast  at  the  fire  discontentedly,  his  look  came  back  to  her  after 
a  little  with  even  more  than  its  usual  gentle  appreciation. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  you  have  come  to  New  York  for? "  said 
he. 

"To  see  you,  sir,  in  the  first  place,  and  the  Evelyns  in  the  sec 
ond." 

"And  who  in  the  third  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  the  third  place  is  vacant,"  said  Fleda  smiling. 

"You  are,  eh?  Well — I  don't  know — but  I  know  that  I  have 
been  enquired  of  by  two  several  and  distinct  people  as  to  your 
coming.  Ah,  you  needn't  open  your  bright  eyes  at  me,  because  I 
shall  not  tell  you.  Only  let  me  ask, — you  have  no  notion  of  fenc 
ing  off  my  Queechy  rose  with  a  hedge  ot  blackthorn, — or  anything 
of  that  kind,  have  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  notion  of  any  fences  at  all,  except  invisible  ones, 
sir,"  said  Fleda,  laughing  and  coloring  very  prettily. 

"Well  those  are  not  American  fences,"  said  the  doctor,  "sol 
suppose  I  am  safe  enough.  Whom  did  I  see  you  out  riding  with 
yesterday?  " 

"I  was  with  Mrs.  Evelyn,"  said  Fleda, — "  I  didn't  want  to  go, 
but  I  couldn^t  very  well  help  myself." 

"  Mrs.  Evelyn. — Mrs.  Evelyn  wasn't  driving,  was  she?" 

"  No  sir  ;  Mr.  Thorn  was  driving." 

"  I  thought  so.     Have  you  seen  your  old  friend  Mr.  Carletot 

yet?" 

"  Do  you  know  him,  uncle  Orrin  ?  " 

"Why  shouldn't  I?  What's  the  difficulty  of  knowing  people! 
Have  you  seen  him?  " 

"  But  how  did  you  know  that  he  was  an  old  friend  of  mine?" 

"Question?—"  said  the  doctor.  "  Hum— well,  I  won't  tell  you 
— so  there's  the  answer.  Now  will  you  answer  me?  " 

"  I  have  not  seen  him,  sir." 

"  Haven't  met  him  in  all  the  times  you  have  been  to  Mrs.  Eve 
lyn's?" 

"No  sir.  I  have  been  there  but  once  in  the  evening,  uncle 
Orrin.  He  is  just  about  sailing  for  England." 


"  Well,  you're  going  there  to-night,  aren't  you?  Run  and  bundle 
jrourself  up  and  I  11  take 


you  there  before  I  begin  my  work." 


QUEECHT.  299 

There  was  a  small  party  that  evening  at  Mrs.  Evelyn's.  Fleda 
was  very  early.  She  ran  up  to  the  first  floor, — rooms  lighted  and 
open,  but  nobody  there. 

"  Fleda  Ringgan,"  called  out  the  voice  of  Constance  from  ove* 
the  stairs, — "  is  that  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Fleda, 

"  Well  just  wait  till  I  come  down  to  you. — My  darling  little 
Fleda,  it's  delicious  of  you  to  come  so  early.  Now  just  tell  me,— 
am  I  captivating?  " 

"Well, — I  retain  self-possession,"  said  Fleda.  "I  cannot  tel! 
about  the  strength  of  head  of  other  people." 

"  You  wretched  little  creature ! — Fleda,  don't  you  admire  my 
hair? — it's  new  style,  my  dear, — just  come  out, — the  Delancys 
brought  it  out  with  them — Eloise  Delancy  taught  it  us — isn't  it 
graceful?  Nobody  in  New  York  has  it  yet,  except  the  Uelancys 
and  we." 

"How  do  you  know  but  they  have  taught  somebody  else?" 
said  Fleda. 

"  I  won't  talk  to  you  ! — Don't  you  like  it?" 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  do  not  like  you  in  your  ordinary  way 
better." 

Constance  made  a  gesture  of  impatience,  and  then  pulled  Fleda 
after  her  into  the  drawing-room. 

"  Come  in  here — I  won't  waste  the  elegancies  of  my  toilet  upon 
your  dull  perceptions — come  here  and  let  me  show  you  some 
flowers — aren't  those  lovely  ?  This  bunch  came  to-day,  •  for 
Miss  Evelyn',  so  Florence  will  have  it  it  is  hers,  and  it's  very 
mean  of  her  for  I  am  perfectly  certain  it  is  mine — it's  come  from 
somebody  who  wasn't  enlightened  on  the  subject  of  my  family  circle 
and  has  innocently  imagined  that  tivo  Miss  Evelyns  could  not  be^ 
long  to  the  same  one  !  I  know  the  floral  representatives  of  all 
Florence's  dear  friends  and  admirers,  and  this  isn't  from  any  of 
them — I  have  been  distractedly  endeavoring  all  day  to  find  who  il 
came  from,  for  if  I  don't  I  can't  take  the  least  comfort  in  it." 

"  But  you  might  enjoy  the  flowers  for  their  own  sake,  I  should 
think,"  said  Fleda,  breathing  the  sweetness  of  myrtle  and  helio 
trope. 

"  No  I  can't,  for  I  have  all  the  time  the  association  of  some  hor* 
rid  creature  they  might  have  come  from,  you  know  ;  but  it  will  d< 
just  as  well  to  humbug  people — I  shall  make  Cornelia  Schenck  be 
iieve  that  this  came  from  my  dear  Mr.  Carleton  !  " 

"  No  you  won't,  Constance,"  said  Fleda  gently. 

"  My  dear  little  Fleda,  I  shock  you,  don't  I  ?  but  I  sha'n't  tell 
any  lies — I  shall  merely  expressively  indicate  a  particular  specimen 
and  say,  '  My  dear  Cornelia,  do  you  perceive  that  this  is  an  Eng 
lish  rose?' — and  then  it's  none  of  my  business,  you  know,  what 
she  believes — and  she  will  be  dying  with  curiosity  and  despair  all 
the  rest  of  the  evening." 

"  I  shouldn't  think  there  would  be  much  pleasure  in  that,  I  con 
fess,"  said  Fleda  gravely.  "  How  very  ungracefully  and  stiffly 
those  are  made  up  !  " 

"My  dear  little  Queechv  rose!"  said  Cop«tanr*  imnatientlv. 
"  you  are,  pardon  me,  asire&uaapobsiDie.  1  ucy  u«m  luuiuie  uuwer* 


300  QUEKCffT. 

with  long  stems,  you  know, — the  gardners  would  be  ruined.  That 
is  perfectly  elegant — it  must  have  cost  at  least  ten  dollars.  My 
dear  little  Fleda  !  "  said  Constance  capering  off  before  the  long 
pier-glass, — "  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  captivating  ! — Do  you  think  it 
would  be  an  improvement  if  I  put  drops  in  my  ears  ? — or  one  curl 
behind  them?  I  don't  know  which  Mr.  Carleton  likes  best!  ! — " 

And  with  her  head  first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other  she 
-tood  before  the  glass  looking  at  herself  and  Fleda  by  turns  with 
;uch  a  comic  expression  of  moak  doubt  and  anxiety  that  no  gravity 
Hit  her  own  could  stand  it. 

"  She  is  a  silly  girl,  Fleda,  isn't  she?  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  coming 
»p  behind  them. 

"Mamma! — am  I  captivating?"  cried  Constance  wheeling 
;ound. 

The  mother's  smile  said  "  Very  !  " 

"  Fleda  is  wishing  she  were  out  of  the  sphere  of  my  influence, 
mamma. — Wasn't  Mr.  Olmney  afraid  of  my  corrupting  you?"  she 
said  with  a  sudden  pull-up  in  front  of  Fleda. — "  My  blessed  stars ! 
— there's  somebody's  voice  I  know. — Well  I  believe  it  is  true  that 
a  rose  without  thorns  is  a  desideratum. — Mamma,  is  Mrs.  Thorn's 
turban  to  be  an  invariable  pendant  to  your  coiffure  all  the  while 
Miss  Ringgan  is  here  ?  " 

•«  Hush  !— " 

With  the  entrance  of  company  came  Constance's  return  from  ex 
travaganzas  to  a  sufficiently  graceful  every-day  manner,  only 
enough  touched  with  high  spirits  and  lawlessness  to  free  it  from  the 
charge  of  commonplace.  But  the  contrast  of  these  high  spirits  with 
her  own  rather  made  Fleda's  mood  more  quiet,  and  it  needed  no 
quieting.  Of  the  sundry  people  that  she  knew  among  those  pres 
ently  assembled  there  were  none  that  she  wanted  to  talk  to  ;  the 
rooms  were  hot  and  she  felt  nervous  and  fluttered,  partly  from 
encounters  already  sustained  and  partly  from  a  little  anxious  ex 
pecting  of  Mr.  Carleton's  appearance.  The  Evelyns  had  not  said 
he  was  to  be  there  but  she  had  rather  gathered  it ;  and  the  remem 
brance  of  old  times  was  strong  enough  to  make  her  very  earnestly 
wish  to  see  him  and  dread  to  be  disappointed.  She  swung  clear  of 
Mr.  Thorn,  with  some  difficulty,  and  ensconced  herself  under  the 
-.hadow  of  a  large  cabinet,  between  that  and  a  young  lady  who  was 
-cry  good  society  for  she  wanted  no  help  in  carrying  on  the  busi- 
less  of  it.  All  Fleda  had  to  do  was  to  sit  still  and  listen,  or  net 
.isten,  which  she  generally  preferred.  Miss  Tomlinson  discoursed 
upon  varieties,  with  great  sociableness  and  satisfaction  ;  while  poor 
Fleda's  mind,  letting  all  her  sense  and  nonsense  go,  was  again  tak 
ing  a  somewhat  bird's  eye  view  of  things,  and  from  the  little  centre 
of  her  post  in  Mrs.  Evelyn's  drawing-room  casting  curious  glances 
over  the  panorama  of  her  life — England,  France,  New  York,  and 
Queechy  ! — half  corning  to  the  conclusion  that  her  place  henceforth 
was  only  at  the  last  and  that  the  world  and  she  had  nothing  to  do 
with  each  other.  The  tide  of  life  and  gayety  seemed  to  have  thrown 
her  on  one  side,  as  something  that  could  not  swim  with  it ;  and  to 
be  rushing  past  too  strongly  and  swiftly  for  her  slight  bark  ever  to 
launch  upon  it  again.  Perhaps  the  shore  might  be  the  safest  and 
happiest  place ;  but  it  was  sober  in  the  comparison :  and  as  a 


QUEECB?  301 

stranded  bark  might  look  upon  the  white  sails  flying  by,  Fleda  saw 
the  gay  faces  and  heard  the  light  tones  with  which  her  own  could 
so  little  keep  company.  But  as  little  they  with  her.  Their  enjoy 
ment  was  not  more  foreign  to  her  than  the  causes  which  moved  it 
were  strange.  Merry  ? — she  might  like  to  be  merry  ;  but  she  could 
sooner  laugh  with  the  North  wind  than  with  one  of  those  vapid 
faces,  or  with  any  face  that  she  could  not  trust.  Conversation  might 
be  pleasant, — but  it  must  be  something  different  from  the  noisy 
:ross-tire  of  nonsense  that  was  going  on  in  one  quarter,  or  the  profit 
ess  barter  of  nothings  that  was  kept  up  on  the  other  side  of  her 
father  Queechy  and  silence,  by  far,  than  New  York  and  this! 

And  through  it  all  Miss  Tomlinson  talked  on  and  was  happy. 

41  My  dear  Fleda  ! — what  are  you  back  here  for  ?  "  said  Florence 
Doming  up  to  her. 

"  I  was  glad  to  be  at  a  safe  distance  from  the  fire." 

"Take  a  screen— here  !  Miss  Tomlinson,  your  conversation  is 
too  exciting  for  Miss  Ringgan — look  at  her  cheeks— I  must  carry 
you  off — I  want  to  show  you  a  delightful  contrivance  of  transparen 
cies,  that  I  learned  the  other  day—" 

The  seat  beside  her  was  vacated,  and  not  casting  so  much  as  a 
look  toward  any  quarter  whence  a  possible  successor  to  Miss  Tom 
linson  might  be  arriving,  Fleda  sprang  up  and  took  a  place  in  the 
far  corner  of  the  room  by  Mrs.  Thorn,  happily  not  another  vacant 
chair  in  the  neighborhood.  Mrs.  Thorn  had  shown  a  very  great 
fancy  for  her  and  was  almost  as  good  company  as  Miss  Tomlinson  ; 
not  quite,  for  it  was  necessary  sometimes  to  answer  and  therefore 
necessary  always  to  hear.  But  Fleda  liked  her  ;  she  was  thoroughly 
amiable,  sensible,  and  good-hearted.  And  Mrs.  Thorn,  very  much 
gratified  at  Fleda's  choice  of  a  seat,  talked  to  her  with  a  benignity 
which  Fleda  could  not  help  answering  with  grateful  pleasure. 

"Little  Queechy,  what  has  driven  yo'u  into  the  corner?"  said 
Constance  pausing  a  monlent  before  her. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  retiring  spirit,"  said  Fleda. 

"  Mrs.  Thorn,  isn't  she  lovely  ?" 

Mrs.  Thorn's  smile  ;it  Fieda  might  almost  have  been  called  that, 
it  was  so  full  of  benevolent  pleasure.  But  she  spoiled  it  by  her 
answer. 

"  I  don't  beMeve  I  am  the  first  one  to  find  it  out." 

"  But  what  are  you  looking  so  sober  for?  "  Constance  went  on, 
making  Fleda's  screen  from  her  hand  and  fanning  her  diligently 
with  it, — "  you  don't  talk!  The  gravity  of  Miss  Ringgan's  face 
casts  a  gloom  over  the  brightness  of  the  evening.  I  couldn't  con- 
eeive  what  made  me  feel  chilly  in  the  other  rooin,  till  I  looked  about 
and  found  that  the  shade  came  from  this  corner  ;  and  Mr.  Thorn's 
teeth,  I  saw,  were  chattering." 

'•  Constance  !  "  said  Fieda  laughing  and  vexed,  and  making  the 
reproof  more  strongly  with  her  eyes, — "how  can  you  talk  so  !  " 

"  Mrs.  Thorn,  isn't  it  true  ?  "  v 

Mrs.  Thorn's  look  at  Fleda  was  the  essence  of  good-humor. 

"  Will  you  let  Lewis  come  and  take  you  a  good  long  ride  to-mor 
row  f  r 

•'  No  Mrs.  Thorn,  I  believe  not— I  intend  to  stay  perse veri ngly  af 


'402  QUEECHY. 

home  to-morrow  and  see  if  it  is  possible  to  be  quiet  a  day  in  Neil 
York." 

"  But  you  will  go  with  me  to  the  concert  to-morrow  night? — both 
of  you — and  hear  Truffi  ; — come  to  my  house  and  take  tea  and  go 
from  there  ?  will  you,  Constance  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Thorn  !  "  said  Constance, — "  I  shall  be  in  ecs 
tasies,  and  Miss  Ringgan  was  privately  imploring  me  last  night  t© 
find  some  way  of  getting  her  to  it.  We  regard  such  material  pleas 
ures  as  tea  and  muffins  with  great  indifference,  but  when  you  look 
ip  after  swallowing  your  last  cup  you  will  see  Miss  Ringgan  anc 
Miss  Evelyn,  cloaked  and  hooded,  anxiously  awaiting  your  nex: 
moYement.  My  dear  Fleda  ! — there  is  a  ring  ! — " 

And  giving  her  the  benefit  of  a  most  comic  and  expressive  arch 
ing  of  her  eyebrows,  Constance  flung  back  the  screen  into  Fleda's 
lap  and  skimmed  away. 

Fleda  was  too  vexed  for  a  few  minutes  to  understand  more  of 
Mrs.  Thorn's  talk  than  that  she  was  first  enlarging  upon  the  con 
cert,  and  afterward  detailing  to  her  a  long  shopping  expedition  in 
search  of  something  which  had  been  a  morning's  annoyance.  She 
almost  thought  Constance  was  unkind,  because  she  wanted  to  go  to 
the  concert  herself  to  lug  her  in  so  unceremoniously  ;  and  wished 
herself  back  in  her  uncle's  snug  little  quiet  parlor, — unless  Mr. 
Carleton  would  come. 

ere  he  is  ! — said  a  quick  beat  of  her  heart,  as  his  entrance 
( .....M. -,„-        Constance's  "ring." 

Such  rush  of  associations  came  over  Fleda  that  she  was  in  im 
minent  inger  of  losing  Mrs.  Thorn  altogether.  She  managed 
howevc  by  some  sort  of  instinct  to  disprove  the  assertion  that  the 
mind  c&.  not  attend  to  two  things  at  once,  and  carried  on  a  double 
conversation,  with  herself  and  with  Mrs.  Thorn,  for  some  time  very 
vigorously. 

"Just  the  same  ! — he  has  not  altered  a  jot,"  she  said  to  herself 
as  he  came  forward  to  Mrs.  Evelyn  ; — "it  is  himself! — his  very 
self — he  doesn't  look  a  day  older — I'm  very  glad  ! — (Yes  ma'am — 
it's  extremely  tiresome — )  How  exactly  as  when  he  left  me  in 
Paris, — and  how  much  pleasanter  than  anybody  else  ! — more  pleas- 
*,"«•  *v —  ever,  it  seems  to  me,  but  that  is  because  I  have  not  seen 
him  in  i  long  ; — he  only  wanted  one  thing.  That  same  grave  eye 
—but  q  eter,  isn't  it, — than  it  used  to  be? — I  think  so — (It's  the 
best  stoi  :  in  town,  I  think,  Mrs.  Thorn,  by  far, — yes,  ma'am — ) 
TK/%"  ~~  es  are  certainly  the  finest  I  ever  saw— How  I  have  seen 
him  : .  I  and  look  just  so  when  he  was  talking  to  his  workmen 
< — withe  that  air  of  consciousness  that  all  these  people  have, 
conr-*9"  'vely — what  a  difference!  (I  know  very  little  about  it, 
*:.•:  1  am  not  learned  in  laces — I  never  bought  any — )  I  wish 

hg  •'  look  this  way — I  wonder  if  Mrs.   Evelyn  does  not  mean 

!/»  UM£»        jm  to  see  me — she   tnust  remember;  now  there   is  that 
«,....  .  d   smile  and  looking  down!    how  much    better  I    know 

%^  leans  than  Mrs.  Evelyn  does — (Yes  ma'am,  I  understand 

; it  is  very  convenient — I  never  go  anywhere  else  to  get 

^  —at  least   I   shculd   not  if  I  lived  here — )     She  does  not 

tfcc  mi  she  is  talking  to. — She  is  going  to  walk  him  off  into  the 

?  m  i    How  very  much  more  gracefully  he  doe§  everything 


QUEECfrr.  303 

than  anybody  else — it  comes  from  that  entire  high-mindedness 
and  frankness,  I  think, — not  altogether,  n  fine  person  must  aid  the 

effect,  and  that  complete  independence  of  other  people 1  wonder 

if  Mrs.  Evelyn  has  forgotten  my  existence  ! — he  has  not,  I  am  sure 
— I  think  she  is  a  little  odd — (Yes  ma'am,  my  face  is  flushed — the 
room  is  very  warm — )  " 

••  But  the  fire  has  gone  down — it  will  be  cooler  now  '  said  Mrs. 
Thorn. 

Which  were  the  first  words  that  fairly  entered  Fleda's  unde*. 
Kanding.  She  was  glad  to  use  the  screen  to  hide  her  face,  now,  no£ 
*he  fire. 

Apparently  the  gentleman  and  lady  found  nothing  to  detain  them 
in  the  other  room,  for  after  sauntering  off  to  it  they  sauntered  back 
again  and  placed  themselves  to  talk  just  opposite  her.  Fleda  had 
an  additional  screen  now  in  the  perssn  of  Miss  'fomlinson,  who 
had  sought  her  corner  and  was  earnestly  talking  across  her  to 
Mrs.  Thorn  ;  so  that  she  was  sure  even  if  Mr.  Carleton's  eyes 
should  chance  to  wander  that  way  they  would  see  nothing  but  the 
unremarkable  skirt  of  her  green  silk  dress,  most  unlikely  to  detain 
them.  The  trade  in  nothings  going  on  over  the  said  green  silk  was 
very  brisk  indeed  ;  but  disregarding  the  buzz  of  tongues  near  at 
hand  Fleda's  quick  ears  were  able  to  free  the  barrier  and  catch 
every  one  of  the  quiet  tones  beyond. 

"  And  you  leave  us  the  day  after  to-morrow  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"No,  Mrs.  Evelyn, — I  shall  wait  another  steamer." 

The  lady's  brow  instantly  revealed  to  Fleda  a  trap  setting  beneath 
to  catch  his  reason. 

"  I'm  very  glad  !  "  exclaimed  little  Edith  who  in  defiance  of  con 
ventionalities  and  proprieties  made  good  her  claim  to  be  in  the 
drawing-room  on  all  occasions; — "then  you  will  take  me  another 
ride,  won't  you,  Mr.  Carleton?" 

"You  do  not  flatter  us  with  a  very  long  stay,"  pursued  Mrs. 
Evelyn. 

"  Quite  as  long  as  I  expected — longer  than  I  meant  it  to  be,"  he 
answered  rather  thoughtfully. 

"  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Constance  sidling  up  in  front  of  him, — "  I 
have  been  in  .distress  to  ask  you  a  question,  and  I  am  afraid " 

"  Of  what  are  you  afraid,  Miss  Constance  ?  " 

"That  you  would  reward  me  with  one  of  your  severe  looks,— = 
*hich  would  petrify  me, — and  then  I  am  afraid  I  should  feel  un 
comfortable — " 

"I  hope  he  will!  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  settling  herself  back  in 
the  corner  of  the  sofa,  and  with  a  look  at  her  daughter  which  was 
complacency  itself,—"  I  hope  Mr.  Carleton  will,  if  you  are  guilty  oi 
any  impertinence." 

"  What  is  the  question,  Miss  Constance  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  know  what  brought  you  out  here  ?  " 

"  Fie,  Constance  \  "  said  her  mother.  "  I  am  ashamed  of  you. 
Do  not  answer  her,  Mr.  Carleton." 

"  Mr.  Carleton  will  answer  me,  mamma, — he  looks  benevolently 
upon  my  faults,  which  are  entirely  those  of  education !  What  was 
fc,  Mr.  Carleton?" 


304  QUEEOfff. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  he  smiling,  "  it  rmgnf  oe  traced  more  or  lee* 
remotely  to  the  restlessness  incident  to  human  nature." 

"  But  you  are  not  restless,  Mr.  Cavleton,"  said  Florence,  with  a 
glance  which  might  be  taken  as  complimentary. 

"And  knowing  that  I  am,''  said  Constance  in  comic  impatience, 
— "  you  are  maliciously  prolonging  my  agonies.  It  is  not  what  I 
expected  of  you,  Mr.  Carleton." 

"  My  dear,"  said  her  father,  "  Mr.  Carleton,  I  am  sure,  will  fulfi' 
all  reasonable  expectations.  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  I  asked  him  where  a  certain  tribe  of  Indians  was  to  be  founc 
papa,  and  he  told  me  they  were  supposed  originally  to  have  coir, 
across  Behring's  Straits  one  cold  winter  !  " 

Mr.  Evelyn  looked  a  little  doubtfully  and  Constance  with  so  un 
hesitating  gravity  that  the  gravity  of  nobody  else  was  worth  talk 
ing  about. 

"  But  it  is  so  uncommon,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  when  they  had  done 
laughing,  "to  see  an  Englishman  of  your  class  here  at  all,  that 
when  he  comes  a  second  time  we  may  be  forgiven  for  wondering 
what  has  procured  us  such  an  honor." 

"Women  may  always  be  forgiven  for  wondering,  my  dear,"  said 
Mr.  Evelyn, — "  or  the  rest  of  mankind  must  live  at  odds  with 
them." 

"  Your  principal  object  was  to  visit  our  western  pairies,  wasn't  it, 
Mr.  Carleton?"  said  Florence. 

••  No,"  he  replied  quietly, — "  I  cannot  say  that.  I  should  choose 
to  give  a  less  romantic  explanation  of  my  movements.  From  some 
knowledge  growing  out  of  my  former  visit  to  this  country  I  thought 
there  were  certain  negotiations  I  might  enter  into  here  with  advant 
age  ;  and  it  was  for  the  purpose  of  attending  to  these,  Miss  Con 
stance,  that  I  came." 

•'  And  have  you  succeeded  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  with  an  expres 
sion  of  benevolent  interest. 

"  No  ma'am — my  information  had  not  been  sufficient." 

"  Very  likely  !"  said  Mr.  Evelyn.  "There  isn't  one  man  in  a 
hundred  whose  representations  on  such  a  matter  are  to  be  trusted  at 
a  distance." 

-' 4  On  such  a  matter ' !  "  repeated  his  wife  funnily, — "  you  don't 
know  what  the  matter  was  Mr.  Evelyn — you  don't  know  what  you 
are  talking  about." 

"  Business,  my  dear,— business — I  take  only  what  Mr.  Carletor 
;aid  ; — it  doesn't  signify  a  straw  what  business.  A  man  must  al 
ways  see  with  his  own  eyes." 

Whether  Mr.  Carleton  had  seen  or  had  not  seen,  or  whether  ev*n 
he  had  his  faculty  of  hearing  in  present  exercise,  a  glance  at  his 
face  was  incompetent  to  discover. 

"I  never  should  have  imagined,"  said  Constance  eyeing  him 
keenly,  "that  Mr.  Carleton's  errand  to  this  country  was  one  of 
business  and  not  of  romance,  /believe  it's  a  humbug  ! 

For  an  instance  this  was  answered  by  one  of  those  looks  of  abso 
lute  composure  in  every  muscle  and  feature  which  put  an  effectua*. 
bar  to  all  further  attempts  from  without  or  revelations  from  within; 
a  look  Fleda  remembered  well,  and  felt  even  in  her  corner.  But  k 
jMTesently  relaxed,  and  he  said  with  his  usual  manner, 


305 

"You  cannot  understand  then,  Miss  Constance,  that  there  should 
32  any  romance  about  business?  " 

"  I  cmnot  understand,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  "why  romance  should 
ncu  co:i;e  jif.cr  business.  Mr.  Carleton,  sir,  you  have  seen  American 
scenery  this  summer — isn't  American  beauty  worth  staying  a  little 
\vhiie  longer  for  ?  " 

"  My  clear,"  said  Mr.  Evelyn,  "  Mr.  Carleton  is  too  much  of  a 
philosopher  to  care  about  beauty — every  man  of  sense  is." 

"  I  am  sure  he  is  not,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  smoothly.     "  Mr.  Carle 
on, — you  are  an  admirer  of  beauty,  are  you  not,  sir?  " 

"I  hope  so,   Mrs.   Evelyn,"   he  said  smiling, — "  but  perhaps 
ihall  shock  you  by  adding, — not  of  beauties." 

11  That  sounds  very  odd,"  said  Florence. 

';  But  let  us  understand,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  with  the  air  of  a 
person  solving  a  problem, — "  I  suppose  we  are  to  infer  that  your 
taste  in  beauty  is  of  a  peculiar  kind?  " 

"  'Piat  may  be  a  fair  inference,"  he  said. 

"  What  is  it  then?  "  said  Constance  eagerly. 

•  •  Yes — what  is  it  you  look  for  in  a  face?  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"  Let  us  hear  whether  America  has  any  chance,"  said  Mr. 
Thorn,  who  had  joined  the  group  and  placed  himself  precisely  so 
as  to  hinder  Fleda's  view. 

"  My  fancy  has  no  stamp  of  nationality,  in  this,  at  least,"  he  said 
pleasantly. 

"Now  for  instance,  the  Miss  Delancys — don't  you  call  them 
handsome,  Mr.  Carleton?"  said  Florence. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  half  smiling. 

"  But  not  beautiful  ? — Now  what  is  it  they  want  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  wish,  if  I  could,  to  make  the  want  visible  to  other 
eyes  than  my  own." 

"  Well  Cornelia  Schenck, — how  do  you  like  her  face  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  pretty-featured." 

"  Pretty-featured  !— Why  she  is  called  beautiful.  She  has  a 
beautiful  smile,  Mr.  Carleton?" 

•'  She  has  only  one." 

"  Only  one  !  and  how  many  smiles  ought  the  same  person  to 
have?"  cried  Florence  impatiently.  But  that  which  instantly  an 
swered  her  said  forcibly  that  a  plurality  of  them  was  possible. 

"I  have  seen  one  face,"  he  said  gravely,  and  his  eye  seeking  the 
'loor, — «•  that  had  I  think  a  thousand." 

"  Different  smiles?  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  in  a  constrained  voice. 

••  If  they  were  not  all  absolutely  that,  they  had  so  much  of  fresh- 
aiess  and  variety  that  they  all  seemed  new." 

"  Was  the  mouth  so  beautiful?  "said  Florence. 

"  Perhaps  it  would  not  have  been  remarked  for  beauty  when  it 
was  perfectly  at  rest ;  but  it  could  not  move  with  the  least  play  of 
feeling,  grave  or  gay,  that  it  did  not  become  so  in  a  very  high  de 
gree.  I  think  there  was  no  touch  or  shade  of  sentiment  in  the  mind 
that  the  lips  did  not  give  with  singular  nicety  ;  and  the  mind  waj 
one  of  the  most  finely-wrought  I  have  ever  known." 

•  &nd  what  other  features  went  with  this  mouth  ?  "  said  Florence. 
'   The  usual  complement,  I  suppose,"  said  Thorn.     "  •  Item,  two 

20 


m  QVEECHY. 

lips  indifferent  red  ;  item,  two  grey  eyes  with  lids  to  them  ;  item, 
one  neck,  one  chin,  and  so  forth.'  ' 

"  Mr.  Carleton,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  blandly — "  as  Mr.  Evelyn 
says  women  may  be  forgiven  for  wondering,  won't  you  answer 
Florence's  question  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Thorn  has  done  it,  Mrs.  Evelyn,  for  me." 

"  But  I  have  great  doubts  of  the  correctness  of  Mr.  Thorn's  de 
scription,  sir — won't  you  indulge  us  with  yours?" 

"Word-painting  is  a  difficult  matter,  Mrs.  Evelyn,  in  some  in 
stances  ; — if  I  must  do  it  I  will  borrow  my  colors.  In  general^ 
1  that  which  made  her  fairness  much  the  fairer  was  that  it  was  but 
an  ambassador  of  a  most  fair  mind.'  ' 

"A  most  exquisite  picture!"  said  Thorn;  "and  the  original* 
don't  stand  so  thick  that  one  is  in  any  danger  of  mistaking  them. 
Is  the  painter  Shakspeare  ? — I  don't  recollect — 

"  I  think  Sidney,  sir — I  am  not  sure." 

'•  But  still,  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  "  this  is  only  in 
general — I  want  very  much  to  know  the  particulars  ; — what  style  of 
features  belonged  to  this  face  ?" 

"The  fairest,  I  think,  I  have  ever  known,"  said  Mr.  Carleton. 
"  You  asked  me,  Miss  Evelyn,  what  was  my  notion  of  beauty  ; — 
this  face  was  a  good  illustration  of  it.  Not  perfection  of  outline, 
though  it  had  that  too  in  very  uncommon  degree  ; — but  the  loveli 
ness  of  mind  and  character  to  which  these  features  were  only  an 
index  ;  the  thoughts  were  invariably  telegraphed  through  eye  and 
mouth  more  faithfully  than  words  could  give  them." 

"  What  kind  of  eyes?"  said  Florence. 

His  own  grew  dark  as  he  answered, — 

"Clear  and  pure  as  one  might  imagine  an  angel's — through 
which  I  am  sure  my  good  angel  many  a  time  looked  at  me." 

Good  angels  were  at  a  premium  among  the  eyes  that  were  ex 
changing  glances  just  then. 

"  And  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn, — "  is  it  fair  to  ask — this 
paragon — is  she  living  still  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so,"  he  answered,  with  his  old  light  smile,  dismissing 
the  subject. 

"  You  spoke  so  much  in  the  past  tense,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  apolo 
getically. 

"  Yes,  I  have  not  seen  it  since  it  was  a  child's." 

•*  A  child  s  face  ! — Oh,"  said  Florence,  "  I  think  you  see  a  great 
many  children's  faces  with  that  kind  of  look." 

•'  I  never  saw  but  the  one,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  dryly. 

So  far  Fleda  listened,  with  cheeks  that  would  certainly  have  ex 
cited  Mrs.  Thorn's  alarm  if  she  had  not  been  happily  engrossed 
with  Miss  Tomlinson's  affairs  ;  though  up  to  the  last  two  minutes 
the  idea  of  herself  had  not  entered  Fleda' s  head  in  connection  with 
the  subject  of  conversation.  But  then  feeling  it  impossible  to  make 
her  appearance  in  public  that  evening,  she  quietly  slipped  out  of 
the  open  window  close  by,  which  led  into  a  little  greenhouse  on  the 
piazza,  and  by  another  door  gained  the  hall  and  the  dressing-room. 

When  Dr.  Gregory  came  to  Mrs.  Evelyn's  an  hour  or  two  after 
a  figure  all  cloaked  and  hooded  ran  down  the  stairs  and  met  him  in 
the  hall. 


QUEECHT.  307 

"  Ready  !  "  said  the  doctor  in  surprise. 

"I  have  been  ready  some  time,  sir,"  said  Fleda. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  then  we'll  go  straight  home,  for  I've  not  done 
my  work  yet." 

"  Dear  uncle  Orrin  !  ''  said  Fleda,  "  if  I  had  known  you  had  work 
to  do  I  wouldn't  have  come." 

"  Yes  you  would  !  "  said  he  decidedly. 

She  clasped  her  uncle's  arm  and  walked  with  him  briskly  home 
through  the  frosty  air,  looking  at  the  silent  lights  and  shadows  on 
the  walls  of  the  street  and  feeling  a  great  desire  to  cry. 

"  Did  you  have  a  pleasant  evening  ?  "  said  the  doctor  when  they 
were  about  half  way. 

"  Not  particularly,  sir,"  said  Fleda  hesitating. 

He  said  not  another  word  till  they  got  home  and  Fleda  went  up 
*o  her  room.  But  the  habit  of  patience  overcame  the  wish  to  cry  : 
and  though  the  outside  of  her  little  gold-clasped  bible  awoke  it 
again,  and  a  few  words  of  the  inside  were  enough  to  lay  it  quietly 
to  sleep. 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor  as  they  sat  at  breakfast  the  next  morn 
ing, — "  where  are  you  going  next?  " 

"To  the  concert,  I  must,  to-night,"  said  Fleda.  "I  couldn't 
help  myself." 

"Why  should  you  want  to  help  yourself?"  said  the  doctor. 
"  And  to  Mrs.  Thorn's  to-morrow  night?" 

"No  sir,  I  believe  not." 

"  I  believe  you  will,"  said  he  looking  at  her. 

"  I  am  sure  I  should  enjoy  myself  more  at  home,  uncle  Orrin. 
There  is  very  little  rational  pleasure  to  be  had  in  these  assem 
blages." 

"  Rational  pleasure  !  "  said  he.  "  Didn't  you  have  any  rational 
pleasure  last  night?" 

"  I  didn't  hear  a  single  word  spoken,  sir,  that  was  worth  listening 
to, — at  least  that  was  spoken  to  me  ;  and  the  hollow  kind  of  rattle 
that  one  hears  from  every  tongue  makes  me  more  tired  than  any 
thing  else,  I  believe  ; — I  am  out  of  tune  with  it,  somehow." 

"  Out  of  tune!  "  said  the  old  doctor,  giving  her  a  look  made  up 
of  humorous  vexation  and  real  sadness, — "  I  wish  I  knew  the  right 
tuning-key  to  take  hold  of  you !  " 

"  I  become  harmonious  rapidly,  uncle  Orrin,  when  I  am  in  this 
pleasant  little  room  alone  with  you." 

"That  won't  do  !  "  said  he,  shaking  his  head  at  the  smile  with 
which  this  was  said, — "  there  is  too  much  tension  upon  the  strings. 
So  that  was  the  reason  you  were  all  ready  waiting  for  me  last 
night  ? — Well,  you  must  tune  up,  my  little  piece  of  discordance, 
and  go  with  me  to  Mrs.  Thorn's  to-morrow  night — I  won't  let 
you  off." 

"  With  you,  sir  !  "  said  Fleda. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  I'll  go  along  and  take  care  of  you  lest  you 
get  drawn  into  something  else  you  don't  like." 

"  But  dear  uncle  Orrin,  there  is  another  difficulty — it  is  to  be  a 
large  party  and  I  have  not  a  dress  exactly  fit." 

••  What  have  you  got  ?  "  said  he  with  a  comic  kind  of  fierceness. 


308  QUEECHY 

"  I  have  silks,  but  they  are  none  of  them  proper  for  this  occasion 
—they  are  ever  so  little  old-fashioned." 

"  What  dc  you  want?" 

"  Nothing,  sir,"  said  Fleda  !  "  for  I  don't  want  to  go.  ' 

<;You  mend  a  pair  of  stockings  to  put  on,"  said  he  nodding  a* 
her,  "and  I'll  see  to  the  rest." 

"Apparently  you  place  great  importance  in  stockings/'  said 
Fleda  laughing,  "for  you  always  mention  them  first.  But  please 
don't  get  anything  for  me,  uncle  Orrin — please  don't !  I  haV<i 
plenty  for  common  occasions,  and  I  don't  care  to  go  to  Mrs 
Thorn's." 

"  I  don't  care  either,"  said  the  doctor,  working  himself  into  his. 
great  coat.  "  By  the  by,  do  you  want  to  invoke  the  aid  of  St. 
Crispin  ?  " 

He  went  off,  and  Fleda  did  not  know  whether  to  cry  or  to  laugb. 
at  the  vigorous  way  in  which  he  trod  through  the  hall  and  slammed 
the  front  door  after  him.  Her  spirits  just  kept  the  rriedium  and 
did  neither.  But  they  were  in  the  same  doubtful  mood  still  an  hour 
after  when  he  came  back  with  a  paper  parcel  he  had  brought 
home  under  his  arm,  and  unrolled  a  fine  embroidered  muslin  ;  her 
eyes  were  very  unsteady  in  carrying  their  brief  messages  of  thank 
fulness,  as  if  they  feared  saying  too  much.  The  doctor  however 
was  in  the  mood  for  doing,  not  talking,  by  looks  or  otherwise. 
Mrs.  Pritchard  was  called  into  consultation,  and  with  great  pride 
and  delight  engaged  to  have  t.he  dress  and  all  things  else  in  due 
order  by  the  following  night  ;  Jer  eyes  saying  all  manner  of  gratu« 
iatory  things  as  they  went  from  the  muslin  to  Fleda  and  from 
Fleda  to  Dr.  Gregory. 

The  rest  of  the  day  was,  not  books,  but  needlefuls  of  thread  ; 
and  from  the  confusion  of  laces  and  draperies  Fleda  was  almost 
glad  to  escape  and  go  the  concert, — but  for  one  item  ;  that  spoiled 
it. 

They  were  in  their  seats  early.  Fleda  managed  successfuly  te 
place  the  two  Evelyns  between  her  and  Mr.  Thorn,  and  then  pre 
pared  herself  to  wear  out  the  evening  with  patience. 

"  My  deaf  Fleda  !  "  whispered  Constance,  after  some  time  spenl 
in  restless  reconnoitring  of  everybody  and  everything, — "  I  don't  see 
my  English  rose  anywhere  ! 

"Hush!"  said  Fleda  smiling.  "That  happened  not  to  be  as 
English  rose,  Constance." 

'*  What  was  it  !  " 

"  American,  unfortunately  ;  it  was  a  Noisette  ;  the  variety  I  think 
that  they  call '  Conque  de  Venus.'  ' 

"  My  dear  little  Fleda,  you're  too  wise  for  anything  !  "  said  Con 
stance  with  a  rather  significant  arching  of  her  eyebrows.  "You 
musn't  expect  other  people. to  be  as  rural  in  their  acquirements  as 
yourself.  I  don't  pretend  to  know  any  rose  by  sight  but  the 
Qbeechy,"  she  said,  with  a  change  of  expression  meant  to  covei 
the  former  one. 

Fleda' s  face  however  did  not  call  for  any  apology.  It  was  per 
fectly  quiet. 

"  But  what  has  become  of  him !  "  said  Constance  with  her  comic 
impatience.—  "  My  dear  Fleda  1  if  my  eyes  cannot  rest  up<m  tfca< 


QUEECMT.  309 

development  of  elegance    the  parterre  is  become  a  wilderness  t<? 


me! 

"Hush  Constance!"  Fleda  whispered  earnestly,-  you  are 
not  safe — he  may  be  near  you." 

"Safe! — "  ejaculated    Constance;   but  a  half  backward  hasty 
glance  of  her  eye  brought  home  so  strong  an  impression  that  the 
person  in  question  was  seated  a  little  behind  her  that  she  dared  not 
venture  another  look,  and  became  straightway  extremely  well-be 
haved. 

He  was  there  ;  and  being  presently  convinced  that  he  was  in  the 
neighborhood  of  his  little  friend  of  former  days  he  resolved  with  his  . 
own  excellent  eyes  to  test  the  truth  of  the  opinion  he  had  formed  as 
to  the  natural  and  inevitable  effect  of  circumstances  upon  her  char 
acter  ;  whether  it  could  by  possibility  have  retained  its  great  deli 
cacy  and  refinement  under  the  rough  handling  and  unkindly  bear 
ing  of  things  seemingly  foreign  to  both.  He  had  thought  not. 

Trurfi  did  not  sing,  and  the  entertainment  was  of  a  very  sec 
ondary  quality.  This  seemed  to  give  no  uneasiness  to  the  Miss 
Evelyns,  for  if  they  pouted  they  laughed  and  talked  in  the  same 
breath,  and  that  incessantly.  It  was  nothing  to  Mr.  Carleton,  for 
his  mind  was  bent  on  something  else.  And  with  a  little  surprise  he 
saw  that  it  was  nothing  to  the  subject  of  his  thoughts, — either  be 
cause  her  own  were  elsewhere  too,  or  because  they  were  in  league 
with  a  nice  taste  that  permitted  them  to  take  no  interest  in  what 
was  going  on.  Even  her  eyes,  trained  as  they  had  been  to  recluse 
habits,  were  far  less  busy  than  those  of  her  companions ;  indeed 
they  were  not  busy  at  all  ;  for  the  greater  part  of  the  time  one 
hand  was  upon  the  brow,  shielding  them  from  the  glare  of  the 
gas-lights.  Ostensibly, — but  the  very  quiet  air  of  the  face  led  him 
fo  guess  that  the  mind  was  glad  of  a  shield  too.  It  relaxed  some 
times.  Constance  and  Florence  and  Mr.  Thorn  and  Mr.  Thorn's 
mother  were  every  now  and  then  making  demands  upon  her,  and 
they  were  met  always  with  an  intelligent  well-bred  eye,  and  often 
with  a  smile  of  equal  gentleness  and  character  ;  but  her  observer 
noticed  that  though  the  smile  came  readily  it  went  as  readily, 
and  the  lines  of  the  face  quickly  settled  again  into  what  seemed 
to  be  an  habitual  composure.  There  were  the  same  outlines,  the 
same  characters,  he  remembered  very  well  ;  there  was  a  difference  ; 
not  grief  had  changed  them,  but  life  had.  The  brow  had  all  its  fine 
chiselling  and  high  purity  of  expression  ;  but  now  there  sat  there  a 
hopelessness,  or  rather  a  want  of  hopefulness,  that  a  child's  face 
never  knows.  The  mouth  was  sweet  and  pliable  as  ever,  but  now 
often  patience  and  endurance  did  not  quit  their  seat  upon  the  lip 
even  when  it  smiled.  The  eye  with  all  its  old  clearness  and 
truthfulness  had  a  shade  upon  it  that  nine  years  ago  only  fell  at 
the  bidding  of  sorrow  ;  and  in  every  line  of  the  face  there  was  a 
quiet  gravity  that  went  to  the  heart  of  the  person  who  was  study 
ing  it.  Whatever  causes  had  been  at  work  he  was  very  sure  had 
done  no  harm  to  the  character  ;  its  old  simplicity  had  suffered  no 
change,  as  every  look  and  movement  proved  ;  the  very  unstudied 
Careless  position  of  the  fingers  over  the  eyes  showed  that  the 
thoughts  had  nothing  to  do  there. 

On  one  half  of  his  doubt  Mr.  Carleton'*  mind  was  entirely  made 


310  QUEECHY. 

dp; — but  «dticarton?  the  training  and  ttoring  of  the  mind  ?— how 
had  that  fared  !     He  would  know  ! — 

Perhaps  he  would  have  made  some  attempt  that  very  evening  to 
ward  satisfying  himself;  but  noticing  that  in  coming  out  Thorn 
permitted  the  Evelyns  to  pass  him  and  attached  himself  determin- 
ately  to  Fleda,  he  drew  back,  and  resolved  to  make  his  observa* 
tions  indirectly  and  on  more  than  one  point  before  he  should  seer* 
*Q  make  them  at  all. 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

Hark !  I  hear  the  sound  of  coaches, 
The  hour  of  attack  approaches. 

GAY. 

MRS.  FRITCHARD  had  arrayed  Fleda  in  the  white  muslin,  with  an 
amount  of  satisfaction  and  admiration  that  all  the  lines  of  her  face 
were  insufficient  to  express. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  you  must  just  run  down  and  let  the  doctor  see 
you — afore  you  take  the  shine  off — or  he  won't  be  able  to  look  at 
anything  else  when  you  get  to  the  place." 

"That  would  be  unfortunate  !  "  said  Fleda,  and  she  ran  down 
laughing  into  the  room  where  the  doctor  was  waiting  for  her  ;  but 
her  astonished  eyes  encountering  the  figure  of  Dr.  Quackenboss 
she  stopped  short,  with  an  air  that  no  woman  of  the  world  could 
have  bettered.  The  physician  of  Queechy  on  his  part  was  at  least 
equally  taken  aback. 

"Dr.  Quackenboss!  "  said  Fleda. 

•  •  I — I  was  going  to  say,  Miss  Ringgan  !  "  said  the  doctor,  with  a 
most  unaffected  obeisance, — "  but — a — I  am  afraid  sir,  it  is  a  de 
ceptive  influence  ! " 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Dr.  Gregory  smiling,  one  corner  of  his  mouth 
for  his  guest  and  the  other  for  his  niece.  "  Real  enough  to  do  real 
execution,  or  I  am  mistaken,  sir." 

"Upon  my  word,  sir,"  said  Dr.  Quackenboss  bowing  again, — 
"I  hope — a — Miss  Ringgan! — will  remember  the  acts  of  her  ex 
ecutive  power  at  home,  and  return  in  time  to  prevent  an  unfortumate 
termination !  " 

Dr.  Gregory  laughed  heartily  now,  while  Fleda' s  cneeks  relieved 
^ier  dress  to  admiration. 

"Who  will  complain  of  her  if  she  don't?"  said  the  doctor. 
ei  Who  will  complain  of  her-  if  she  don't  ?  " 

But  Fleda  put  in  her  question. 

"  How  are  you  all  at  home,  Dr.  Quackenboss?  " 

"  Ail  Queechy,  sir,'  answered  the  doctor  politely,  on  the  prin 
ciple  of  '  first  come,  first  served,' — "and  individuals, — I  shouldn't 
like  to  specify — " 

"How  are  you  all  in  Queechy,  Dr.  Quackenboss!"  said 
Fleda. 

41 1 — have  the  pleasure  to  say — we  are  coming  along  as  usual," 
yeplied  the  doctor,  who  seemed  to  have  lost  his  power  of  standing 
up  straight; — "  My  sister  Flora  enjoys  but  poor  health  lately, — they 
are  all  holding  their  heads  up  at  your  house.  Mr.  Rossitur  has 
come  home 


QUEECHY.  3H 

"Unclf  Rolf!  Has  he!  "  exclaimed  Fleda,  the  color  of  joy 
quite  supplanting  the  other.  "  O  I'm  very  glad  !  " 

••  Yes,"  said  the  doctor,—"  he's  been  home  now,— I  guess,  going 
on  four  days." 

"  I  am  very  glad  !  "  repeated  Fleda.  "  But  won't  you  come  and 
see  me  another  time,  Dr.  Quackenboss? — I  am  obliged  to  go  out." 

The  doctor  professed  his  great  willingness,  adding  that  he  had 
3nly  come  down  to  the  city  to  do  two  or  three  chores  and  thought 
she  might  perhaps  like  to  take  the  opportunity — which  would  afford 
him  such  very  great  gratification. 

"  No  indeed,  faire  Una,"  said  Dr.  Gregory,  when  they  were  on 
their  way  to  Mrs.  Thorn's, — "  they've  got  your  uncle  at  home  now 
and  we've  got  you;  and  I  mean  to  Heep  you  till  I'm  satisfied. 
So  you  may  bring  home  that  eye  that  has  been  squinting  at 
Queechy  ever  since  you  have  been  here  and  make  up  your  mind  to 
enjoy  yourself ;  I  shan't  let  you  go  till  you  do." 

"  I  ought  to  enjoy  rriyself,  uncle  Orrin,"  said  Fleda  squeezing  his 
arm  gratefully. 

"  See  you  do,"  said  he. 

The  pleasant  news  from  home  had  given  Fleda's  spirits  the 
needed  spur,  which  the  quick  walk  to  Mrs.  Thorn's  did  not  take  off. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  Fleda  look  so  well,  mamma  ?"  said  Florencef 
as  the  former  entered  the  drawing-room. 

"That  is  the  loveliest  and  best  face  in  the  room,"  said  Mr 
Evelyn  ;  "  and  she  looks  like  herself  to-night." 

"  There  is  a  matchless  simplicity  about  her,"  said  a  gentlemao 
standing  by. 

"  Her  dress  is  becoming,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"  Why  where  did  you  ever  see  her,  Mr.  Stackpole,  except  at  our 
house?"  said  Constance. 

"  At  Mrs.  Decatur's— I  have  had  that  pleasure— and  once  at  her 
uncle's." 

"  1  didn't  know  you  ever  noticed  ladies'  faces,  Mr.  Stackpole," 
said  Florence. 

"  How  Mrs.  Thorn  does  look  at  her  !  "  said  Constance,  under  her 
breath.  "  It  is  too  much  !  " 

It  was  almost  too  much  for  Fleda's  equanimity,  for  the  color  be* 
gan  to  come. 

"  And  there  goes  Mr.  Carleton  !  "  said  Constance.  "  I  expect 
momentarily  to  hear  the  company  strike  up  •  Sparkling  and 
Bright.'  ' 

"  They  should  have  done  that  some  time  ago,  Miss  Constance," 
said  the  gentleman. 

Which  compliment,  however,  Constance  received  with  hardly 
disguised  scorn,  and  turned  her  attention  again  to  Mr.  Carleton. 

"  I  trust  I  do  not  need  presentation,"  said  his  voice  and  his  smile 
at  once,  as  he  presented  himself  to  Fleda. 

How  little  he  needed  it  the  flash  of  feeling  which  met  his  eyes 
aar.i  sufficiently  well.  But  apparently  the  feeling  was  a  little  too 
deep,  for  the  color  mounted  and  the  eyes  fell,  and  the  smile  sud 
denly  died  on  the  lips.  Mr.  Thorn  came  up  to  them,  and  re 
leasing  her  hand  Mr.  Carleton  stepped  back  and  permitted  hiai 
to  lead  her  away. 


312  QUEKCHY 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that  face  ?  '  said  Constance  hading  hef» 
self  a  few  moments  after  at  his  side. 

"  '  That '  must  define  itself,  "said  he,  "  or  I  can  hardly  give  a  safe 
answer." 

"  What  face?  Why  I  mean  of  course  the  one  Mr.  Thorn  carried 
off  just  now." 

"  You  are  her  friend,  Miss  Constance,"  he  said  coolly.  "•  May 
5  ask  for  your  judgment  upon  it  before  I  give  mine?  " 

"  Mine  ?  why  1  expected  every  minute  that  Mr.  Thorn  would 
tnake  the  musician  play  '  Sparkling  and  Bright,"  and  tell  Mis« 
Ringgan  that  to  save  trouble  he  had  directed  them  to  express  what 
he  was  sure  were  the  sentiments  of  the  whole  "company  in  one 
burst." 

He  smiled  a  little,  but  in  a  way  that  Constance  could  not  undor- 
stand  and  did  not  like. 

"  Those  are  common  epithets,"  he  said. 

"  Must  I  use  uncommon?  "  said  Constance  significantly. 

"  No — but  these  may  say  one  thing  or  another." 

"  I  have  said  one  thing,"  said  Constance  ;  "  and  now  you  may- 
say  the  other." 

"  Pardon  me — you  have  said  nothing.  These  epithets  are  de< 
served  by  a  great  many  faces,  but  on  very  different  grounds  ;  and 
the  praise  is  a  different  thing  accordingly." 

"  Well  what  is  the  difference?"  said  Constance. 

"On  what  do  you  think  this  lady's  title  to  it  rests?  " 

"On  what? — why  on  that  bewitching  little  air  of  the  eyes  and 
mouth,  I  suppose." 

"  Bewitching  is  a  very  vague  term,"  said  he  smiling  again  more 
quietly.  "  But  you  have  had  an  opportunity  of  knowing  it  much 
better  of  late  than  I — to  which  class  of  bright  faces  would  you  refer 
this  one  ?  Where  does  the  light  come  from  ?  " 

"  I  never  studied  faces  in  a  class,"  said  Constance  a  little  scorn 
fully.  "  Come  from? — a  region  ef  mist  and  clouds  I  should  say, 
for  it  is  sometimes  pretty  well  covered  up." 

"  There  are  some  eyes  whose  sparkling  is  nothing  more  than  the 
play  of  light  upon  a  bright  bead  of  glass." 

"It  is  not  that,"  said  Constance,  answering  in  spite  of  herself 
after  delaying  as  long  as  she  dared. 

"There  is  the  brightness  that  is  only  the  reflection  of  outwaro 
Circumstances,  and  passes  away  with  them." 

"  It  isn't  that  in  Fleda  Ringgan,"  said  Constance,  "  for  her  out- 
Ward  circumstances  have  no  brightness,  I  should  think,  that  re 
flection  would  not  utterly  absorb." 

She  would  fain  have  turned  the  conversation,  but  the  questions 
were  put  so  lightly  and  quietly  that  it  could  not  be  gracefully  done. 
She  longed  to  cut  it  short,  but  her  hand  was  upon  Mr.-Carleton's 
arm  and  they  were  slowly  sauntering  down  the  rooms, — too  pleasant 
a  state  of  things  to  be  relinquished  for  a  trifle. 

"There  is  the  broad  day-light  of  mere  animal  spirits,"  he  went 
on,  seeming  rather  to  be  suggesting  these  things  for  her  consider 
ation  than  eager  to  set  forth  any  opinions  of  his  own  ; — "  there  is  the 
sparkli"g  of  mischief,  and  the  fire  of  hidden  passions, — there  is  the 
passing  brilliance  of  wit,  as  satisfactory  and  resting  as  these  gas- 


QUEECHY.  ?13 

fights. — and  there  is  now  and  then  the  light  of  refined  affections  out 
of  a  heart  unspotted  from  the  world,  as  pure  and  abiding  as  the 
stars,  and  like  them  throwing  its  soft  ray  especially  upon  the 
shadows  of  life." 

"I  have  always  understood,"  said  Constance,  "that  cat's  eyes 
are  brightest  in  the  dark." 

"They  do  not  love  the  light,  1  believe,"  said  Mr.  Carleton 
calmly. 

"Well,'  said  Constance,  not  relishing  the  expression  of  her 
:ompanion's  eye,  which  from  glowing  had  suddenly  become  cool 
uid  bright, — "where  would  you  put  me,  Mr.  Carleton,  among  all 
iiese  illuminators  of  the  social  system?" 

"  You  may  put  yourself — where  you  please,  Miss  Constance,"  he 
said,  again  turning  upon  her  an  eye  so  deep  and  full  in  its  meaning 
that  her  own  and  her  humor  fell  before  it ;  for  a  moment  she 
looked  most  unlike  the  gay  scene  around  her. 

"Is  not  that  the  best  brightness,"  he  said  speaking  low,  "that 
will  last  forever? — and  is  not  that  lightness  of  heart  best  worth 
having  which  does  not  depend  on  circumstances,  and  will  find  its 
perfection  just  when  all  other  kinds  of  happiness  fail  utterly  ?  " 

"  I  can't  conceive,"  said  Constance  presently,  rallying  or  trying 
to  rally  herself, — "  what  you  and  I  have  to  do  in  a  place  where 
people  are  enjoying  themselves  at  this  moment,  Mr.  Carleton  !J' 

He  smiled  at  that  and  led  her  out  of  it  into  the  conservatory, 
close  to  which  they  found  themselves.  It  was  a  large  and  fine  one, 
terminating  the  suite  of  rooms  in  this  direction.  Few  people  were 
there ;  but  at  the  far  end  stood  a  group  among  whom  Fleda  and 
Mr.  Thorn  were  conspicuous.  He  was  busying  himself  in  putting 
together  a  quantity  of  flowers  for  her  ;  and  Mrs.  Evelyn  and  old 
Mr.  Thorn  stood  looking  on  ;  with  Mr.  Stackpole.  Mr.  Stackpole 
was  an  Englishman,  of  certainly  not  very  prepossessing  exterior 
but  somewhat  noted  as  an  author  and  a  good  deal  sought  after  in 
consequence.  At  present  he  was  engaged  by  Mrs.  Evelyn.  Mr. 
Carleton  and  Constance  sauntered  up  toward  them  and  paused  at 
a  little  distance  to  look  at  some  curious  plants. 

"  Don't  try  for  that,  Mr.  Thorn,"  said  Fleda,  as  the  gentleman 
was  making  rather  ticklish  efforts  to  reach  a  superb  Fuchsia  that 
hung  high. — "  You  are  endangering  sundry  things  besides  yourself." 
"  I  have  learned,  Miss  Fleda,"  said  Thorn  as  with  much  ado  he 
grasped  the  beautiful  cluster,—"  that  what  we  take  the  most  pains 
ror  is  apt  to  be  reckoned  the  best  prize, — a  truth  I  should  never 
.hink  of  putting  into  a  lady's  head  if  I  believed  it  possible  that  a 
jingle  one  of  them  was  ignorant  of  its  practical  value." 

'   I  have  this  same  rose  in  my  garden  at  home,"  said  F!eda. 
"  You  are  a  great  gardener,   Miss  Fleda,  I  hear,"  said  the  old 
gentleman.     "  My  son  says  you  are  an  adept  in  it." 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  it  sir,"  said  Fleda,  answering  him  with  an 
entirely  different  face. 

"  I  thought  the  delicacy  of  American  ladies  was  beyond  such  a 
masculine  employment  as  gardening,"  said  Mr.  St-ackpole,  edging 
away  from  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

11  I  guess  this  young  lady  is  an  exccptien  to  the  rule,"  stid  old 
thorn', 


314  QUtiECffT. 

•'  I  guess  she  is  an  exception  to  most  rules  that  you  have  g«t  ia 
your  note-book,  Mr.  Stackpole,"  said  the  younger  man.  "But 
there  is  no  guessing  about  vhe  garden,  for  I  have  with  my  own  eyes 
seen  these  gentle  hands  at  one  end  of  a  spade  and  her  foot  at  the 
other  ; — a  sight  that — I  declare  I  don't  know  whether  I  was  most 
Ailed  with  astonishment  or  admiration  !  " 

"Yes,"  said  Fleda  half  laughing  and  coloring, — "and  he  ingen 
uously  confessed  in  his  surprise  that  he  didn't  know  whether  polite* 
ne*s  ought  to  oblige  him  to  stop  and  shake  hands  or  to  pass  by 
without  seeing  me  ;  evidently  showing  that  he  thought  I  was  abouf 
something  equivocal." 

The  laugh  was  now  turned  against  Mr.  Thorn,  but  he  went  ofc 
cutting  his  geraniums  with  a  grave  face. 

"Well,"  said  he  at  length,  "I  think  it  is  something  of  very 
equivocal  utility.  Why  should  such  gentle  hands  and  feet  spend 
their  strength  in  clod-breaking,  when  roufh  ones  are  at  com 
mand  ?  " 

There  was  nothing  equivocal  about  Fleda':  merriment  this  time. 

"  1  have  learned,  Mr.  Thorn,  by  sad  exptvience,  that  the  tough 
hands  break  more  than  the  clods.  One  day  1  set  Philetus  to  work 
among  my  flowers;  and  the  first  thing  I  knerv  he  had  pulled  up  a 
fine  passion-flower  which  didn't  make  much  show  above  ground 
and  was  displaying  it  to  me  with  the  grave  commentary,  '  Well ! 
that  root  did  grow  to  a  great  haigth !  '  " 

"Some  mental  clod-breaking  to  be  done  up  there,  isn't  there?" 
said  Thorn  in  a  kind  of  aside.  "  I  cannot  express  my  admiration 
at  the  idea  of  your  dealing  with  those  boors,  a»  it  has  been  de 
scribed  to  me." 

"They  do  not  deserve  the  name,  Mr.  Thonv,"  said  Fleda. 
"  They  are  many  of  them  most  sensible  and  excellent  people,  and 
friends  that  I  value  very  highly  " 

"  Ah,  your  goodness  would  make  friends  of  everything." 

"  Not  of  boors,  I  hope,"  said  Fleda  co<?Uy.  "  Besides,  what  do 
you  mean  by  the  name  ?  " 

"Anybody  incapable  of  appreciating  that  of  which  you  alone 
should  be  unconscious,"  he  said  softly. 

Fleda  stood  impatiently  tapping  her  flowers  against  her  left 
hand. 

"  I  doubt  their  power  of  appreciation  reaches  a  point  that  would 
Surpri  se  y  o  u ,  si  r. " 

"It  does  indeed — if  I  am  mistaken  in  my  supposition,"  he  said 
with  a  glance  which  Fleda  refused  to  acknowledge. 

"  What  proportion  do  you  suppose,"  she  went  on,  "  of  all  these 
roomfuls  of  people  behind  us, — without  saying  anything  uncharita 
ble, — what  proportion  of  th«m,  if  compelled  to  amuse  tnemselves 
for  two  hours  at  a  bookcase,  would  pitch  upon  Macaulay  s  Essays, 
or  anything  like  them,  to  sperid  the  time  ?  " 

"  Hum — really,  Miss  Fleda,"  said  Thorn,  "  I  should  want  to 
brush  up  my  Algebra  considerably  before  I  could  hope  to  find  x,  y, 
and  z  in  such  a  confusion  of  the  alphabet." 

"Or  extract  the  small  sensible  root  of  such  a  quantity  of  light 
matter,"  said  Mr.  Stackpole, 

"Will  you  bear  with  my  vindication  of  my  country  friends?--* 


qUEECHY.  315 

Hugh  and  I  sent  for  a  carpenter  to  make  some  new  arrangement 
of  shelves  in  a  cupboard  where  we  kept  our  books  ;  he  was  one  of 
these  boors,  Mr.  Thorn,  in  no  respect  above  the  rest.  The  right 
stuff  for  his  work  was  wanting,  and  while  it  was  sent  for  he  took  up 
one  of  the  volumes  that  were  lying  about  and  read  perseveringly 
until  the  messenger  returned.  It  was  a  volume  of  Macaulay'* 
Miscellanies  ;  and  afterward  he  borrowed  the  book  of  me." 

44  And  you  lent  it  to  him  ?  "  said  Constance. 

"  Most  assuredly  !  and  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure." 

44  And  is  this  no  more  than  a  common  instance,  Miss  Ringgan  ?" 
>aid  Mr.  Carleton. 

4'  No,  I  think  not,"  said  Fleda  ;  the  quick  blood  in  her  cheekf 
again  answering  the  familiar  voice  and  old  associations  ; — "  I  know 
several  of  the  farmers'  daughters  around  us  that  have  studied 
Latin  and  Greek  ;  and  philosophy  is  a  common  thing  ;  and  I  am 
sure  there  is  more  sense  " — 

She  suddenly  checked  herself  and  her  eye  which  had  been 
sparkling  grew  quiet. 

44  It  is  very  absurd  !  "  said  Mr.  Stackpole. 

44  Why,  sir?" 

44  O — these  people  have  nothing  to  do  with  such  things — do  them 
nothing  but  harm  !  " 

44  May  I  ask  again,  what  harm?  "  said  Fleda  gently. 

"Unfit  them  for  the  duties  of  their  station  and  make  them  dis 
contented  with  it." 

44  By  making  it  pleasanter?" 

44  No  no — not  by  making  it  pleasanter." 

44  By  what  then,  Mr.  Stackpole?"  said  Thorn,  to  draw  him  on 
and  to  draw  her  out,  Fleda  was  sure. 

44  By  lifting  them  out  of  it." 

44  And  what  objection  to  lifting  them  out  of  it  ?  "  said  Thorn. 

44  You  can't  lift  everybody  out  of  it,"  said  the  gentleman  with  a 
little  irritation  in  his  manner, — 44that  station  must  be  filled — there 
must  always  be  poor  people." 

44  And  what  degree  of  poverty  ought  to  debar  a  man  from  the 
pleasures  of  education  and  a  cultivated  taste  ?  such  as  he  can 
attain.'*" 

44  No,  no,  not  that,"  said  Mr.  Stackpole  ; — 4<  but  it  all  goes  to  fill 
Jhem  with  absurd  notions  about  their  place  in  society,  inconsistent 
with  proper  subordination." 

Fleda  looked  at  him,  but  shook  her  head  slightly  and  was  silent. 

"  Things  are  in  very  different  order  on  our  side  the  water, "  said 
Mr.  Stackpole  hugging  himself. 

44  Are  they?"  said  Fleda. 

44  Yes— we  understand  how  to  keep  things  in  their  places  a  little 
better." 

44  I  did  not  know,"  said  Fleda  quietly,  "  that  it  was  by  design  of 
the  rulers  of  England  that  so  many  of  her  lower  class  are  in  the 
intellectual  condition  of  our  slaves." 

44  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  laughing,— "  what  do  you  say 
to  that,  sir?  " 

Fleda's  face  turned  suddenly  to  him  with  a  quick  look  of  apology 
which  she  immediately  knew  was  not  needed. 


31C  QUEECHY. 

"  But  this  kind  of  thing  don't  make  the  people  any  happier/' 
pursued  Mr.  Stackpole  ; — "  only  serves  to  give  them  uppish  and 
dissatisfied  longings  that  cannot  be  gratified." 

"Somebody  says,"  observed  Thorn,  "that  '  under  a  despotism 
all  are  contented  because  none  can  get  on,  and  in  a  republic  none 
are  contented  because  all  can  get  on.'  ' 

"  Precisely,"  said  Mr.  Stackpole. 

"  That  might  do  very  well  if  the  world  were  in  a  state  ot  perfec 
tion,"  said  Fleda.  "  As  it  is,  commend  me  to  discontent  and  get" 
ting  on.  And  the  uppishness  I  am  afraid  is  a  national  fault,  sir  * 
you  know  our  state  motto  is  •  Excelsior.'  " 

"We  are  at  liberty  to  suppose,"  said  Thorn,  "that  Miss  Ring- 
gan  has  followed  the  example  of  her  friends  the  farmers'  daughters? 
— or  led  them  in  it? — " 

"  It  is  dangerous  to  make  surmises,"  said  Fleda  coloring. 

"  It  is  a  pleasant  way  of  running  into  danger,"  said  Mr.  Thorn, 
who  was  leisurely  pruning  the  prickles  from  the  stem  of  a  rose. 

"  I  was  talking  to  a  gentleman  once,"  said  Fleda,  "  about  the 
birds  and  flowers  we  find  in  our  wilds  ;  and  he  told  me  afterward 
gravely  that  he  was  afraid  I  was  studying  too  many  things  at  once  ! 
— when  I  was  innocent  of  all  ornithology  but  what  my  eyes  and 
ears  had  picked  up  in  the  woods  ;  except  some  childish  reminis 
cences  of  Audubon." 

"  That  is  just  the  right  sort  of  learning  for  a  lady,"  said  Mr. 
Stackpole,  smiling  at  her  however  ; — "  women  have  nothing  to  do 
with  books." 

"  What  do  you  say  to  that,  Miss  Fleda  ?  "  said  Thorn. 

"  Nothing  sir  ;  it  is  one  of  those  positions  that  are  unanswer 
able." 

"  But  Mr.  Stao-kpole,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  "  I  don't  like  that  doc 
trine,  sir.  I  do  not  believe  in  it  all." 

"That  is  unfortunate — for  my  doctrine,"  said  the  gentleman. 

"  But  I  do  not  believe  it  is  yours.  Why  must  women  have  noth 
ing  to  do  with  books  ?  what  harm  do  they  do,  Mr.  Stackpole  ?  " 

"  Not  needed,  ma'am, — a  woman,  as  somebody  says,  knows  in 
tuitively  all  that  is  really  worth  knowing." 

"Of  what  use  is  a  mine  that  is  never  worked  ?  "  said  Mr.  Carle- 
ton. 

"  It  is  worked,"  said  Mr.  Stackpole.     "  Domestic  life  is  the  tru 
training  for  the  female  mind.     One  woman  will  learn  more  wisdon 
from  the  child  on  her  breast  than  another  will  learn  from  ten  thou 
sand  volumes." 

"  It  is  very  doubtful  how  much  wisdom  the  child  will  ever  learn 
from  her,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  smiling. 

"  A  woman  who  never  saw  a  book,"  pursued  Mr.  Stackpole,  un 
consciously  quoting  his  author,  "  may  be»irifinitely  superior,  even  in 
all  those  matters  of  which  books  treat,  to  the  woman  who  has  read 
and  read  intelligently,  a  whole  library." 

"Unquestionably — and  it  is  likewise  beyond  question  that  a  silver 
sixpence  may  be  worth  more  than  a  washed  guinea." 

But  a  woman's  true  sphere  is  in  her  family — in  her  home  duties, 
wiiich  furnish  the  best  and  most  appropriate  training  for  her  facul 
tics — pointed  out  by  nature  itself." 


QUhECHY.  31? 

"  Yes  !  "  said  Mr.  Carleton, — "  and  for  those  duties,  some  of  the 
very  highest  and  noblest  that  are  entrusted  to  human  agency,  the 
fine  machinery  that  is  to  perform  them  should  be  wrought  to  its  last 
point  of  perfect  ness.  The  wealth  of  a  woman's  mind,  instead  of 
lying  in  the  rough,  should  be  richly  brought  out  and  fashioned  for 
its  various  ends,  while  yet  those  ends  are  in  the  future,  or  it  will 
never  meet  the  demand.  And  for  her  own  happiness,  all  the  more 
because  her  sphere  is  at  home,  her  home  stores  should  be  exhaust- 
\ess — the  stores  she  cannot  go  abroad  to  seek.  I  would  add  tc 
strength  beauty,  and  to  beauty  grace,  in  the  intellectual  proportions, 
30  far  as  possible.  It  were  ungenerous  in  man  to  condemn  tire  fast 
half  of  human  intellect  to  insignificance  merely  because  it  is  not  his 
own." 

Mrs.  Evelyn  wore  a  smile  of  admiration  that  nobody  saw,  but 
Fleda's  face  was  a  study  while  Mr.  Carleton  was  saying  this.  Her 
look  was  fixed  upon  him  with  such  intent  satisfaction  and  eagerness 
that  it  was  not  till  he  had  finished  that  <,he  became  aware  that  those 
dark  eyes  were  going  very  deep  into  hers,  and  suddenly  put  a  stop 
to  the  inquisition. 

"  Very  pleasant  doctrine  to  the  ears  that  have  an  interest  in  it !  " 
said  Mr.  Stackpole  rather  discontentedly. 

"  The  man  knows  little  of  his  own  interest,"  said  Mr.  Carleton, 
"  who  would  leave  that  ground  waste,  or  would  cultivate  it  only  in 
the  narrow  spirit  of  a  utilitarian.  He  needs  an  influence  in  his 
family  not  more  refreshing  than  rectifying  ;  and  no  man  will  seek 
that  in  oneigreatly  his  inferior.  He  is  to  be  pitied  who  cannot  fall 
back  upon  his  home  with  the  assurance  that  he  has  there  something 
better  than  himself." 

"Why,  Mr.  Carleton,  sir — "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  with  every  line 
of  her  mouth  saying  funny  things, — "  I  am  afraid  you  have  sadly 
neglected  your  own  interest — have  you  any  thing  ,at  Carleton  better 
than  yourself." 

Suddenly  cool  again,  he  laughed  and  said,  "  You  were  there,  Mrs. 
Evelyn." 

"  But  Mr.  Carleton, — "  pursued  the  lady  with  a  mixture  of  insin 
uation  and  fun, — "  why  were  you  never  married  ?  " 

"  Circumstances  have  always  forbade  it,"  he  answered  with  a 
smile  which  Constance  declared  was  the  most  fascinating  thing  she 
ever  saw  in  her  life. 

Fleda  was  arranging  her  flowers,  with  the  help  of  some  very  un 
iecessary  suggestions  from  the  donor. 

"  Mr.  Lewis,"  said  Constance  with  a  kind  of  insinuation  very  dif- 
ierent  from  her  mother's,  made  up  of  fun  and  daring, — ''Mr. 
Carleton  has  been  giving  me  a  long  lecture  on  botany  ;  while  my 
attention  was  distracted  by  listening  to  your. ifiirituel conversation  " 

"Well,  Miss  Constance?" 

"  And  I  am  morally  certain  I  sha'n't  recollect  a  word  of  it  if  I 
don't  carry  away  some  specimens  to  refresh  my  memory, — and  in 
that  case  he  would  never  give  me  another  \  " 

It  was  impossible  to  help  laughing  at  the  .distressful  position  of 
the  young  lady's  eyebrows,  and  with  at  least  some  measure  of  out 
ward  grace  Mr.  Thorn  set  about  complying  with  her  request.  Fleda 
stood  tapping  her  left  hand  with  her  flowers,  wonderi-ng  a  lit- 


31H  QUEECHY. 

tie  that  somebody  else  did  not  come  and  speak  to  her  ;  but  he  waf 
talking  to  Mrs.  Evelyn  and  Mr.  Stackpole.  Fleda  did  not  wish  to 
join  them,  and  nothing  better  occurred  to  her  than  to  arrange  her 
flowers  over  again  ;  so  throwing  them  all  down  before  her  on  a  mar 
ble  slab,  she  began  to  pick  them  up  one  by  one  and  put  them  to 
gether,  with  it  must  be  confessed  a  very  indistinct  realization  of  the 
difference  between  myrtle  and  lemon  blossoms,  and  as  she  seemed 
to  be  laying  acacia  to  rose,  and  disposing  some  sprigs  of  beautiful 
heath  behind  them,  in  reality  she  was  laying  kindness  alongside  of 
kindness  and  looking  at  the  years  beyond  years  where  their  place 
had  been.  It  was  with  a  little  start  that  she  suddenly  found  the 
person  of  her  thoughts  standing  at  her  elbow  and  talking  to  her  in 
bodily  presence.  But  while  he  spoke  with  all  the  ease  and  simplic 
ity  of  old  times,  almost  making  Fleda  think  it  was  but  last  week 
they  had  been  strolling  through  the  Place  de  la  Concorde  together, 
ihere  was  a  constraint  upon  her  that  she  could  not  get  rid  of  and 
that  bound  eye  and  tongue.  It  might  have  worn  off,  but  his  atten 
tion  was  presently  claimed  again  by  Mrs.  Evelyn  ;  and  Fleda 
thought  best  while  yet  Constance's  bouquet  was  unfinished,  to  join 
another  party  and  make  her  escape  into  the  drawing-rooms. 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

Have  you  observed  a  sitting  hare, 
List'ning,  and  fearful  of  the  storm 
Of  horns  and  hounds,  clap  back  her  ear, 
Afraid  to  keep  or  leave  her  form  ? 

PRIOR. 

BY  the  Evelyns'  own  desire  Fleda's  going  to  them  was  delayed 
for  a  week,  because,  they  said,  a  furnace  was  to  be  brought  into 
the  house  and  they  would  be  all  topsy-turvy  till  that  fuss  was 
over.  Fleda  kept  herself  very  quiet  in  the  mean  time,  seeing  al 
most  nobody  but  the  person  whom  it  was  her  especial  object  to  shun. 
Do  her  best  she  could  not  quite  escape  him,  and  was  even  drawn  into 
two  or  three  walks  and  rides  ;  in  spite  of  denying  herself  utterly 
to  gentlemen  at  home,  and  losing  in  consequence  a  visit  from  her 
old  friend.  She  was  glad  at  last  to  go  to  the  Evelyns  and  see 
company  again,  hoping  that  Mr.  Thorn  would  be  merged  in  a 
crowd. 

But  she  could  not  merge  him  ;  and  sometimes  was  almost  in~ 
clined  to  suspect  that  his  constant  prominence  in  the  picture  must 
be  owing  to  some  mysterious  and  willful  conjuration  going  on  in 
the  background.  She  was  at  a  loss  to  conceive  how  else  it  hap 
pened  that  despite  her  utmost  endeavors  to  the  contrary  she 
was  so  often  thrown  upon  his  care  and  obliged  to  take  up  with 
his  company.  It  was  very  disagreeable.  Mr.  Carleton  she  saw 
almost  as  constantly,  but  though  frequently  near  she  had  never 
much  to  do  with  him.  There  seemed  to  be  a  dividing  atmos 
phere  always  in  the  way  ;  and  whenever  he  did  speak  to  her  she 
felt  miserably  constrained  and  unable  to  appear  like  herself.  Why 
w**  it?— she  asked  herself  in  a  very  vexed  state  of  mind.  No  doubt 
partly  from  the  remembrance  of  that  overheard  conversation  which 
shu  could  not  help  applying,  but  much  more  from  an  indefinable  sense 


QffEECHT.  319 

that  of  these  times  there  were  always  eyes  upon  her.  She  tried 
to  charge  the  feeling  upon  her  consciousness  of  their  having  heard 
that  same  talk,  but  it  would  not  the  more  go  off.  And  it  had  no 
chance  to  wear  off,  for  somehow  the  occasions  never  lasted  long  ; 
something  was  sure  to  break  them  up  ;  while  an  unfortunate  com 
bination  of  circumstances,  or  of  connivers.  seemed  to  give  Mr. 
Thorn  unlimited  facilities  in  the  same  kind.  Fleda  was  quick 
witted  and  skillful  enough  to  work  herself  out  of  them  once  in  a 
while  ;  more  often  the  combination  was  too  much  for  her  simplicity 
and  straightforwardness. 

She  was  a  little  disappointed  and  a  little  surprised  at  Mr.  Carle^ 
ton's  coolness.  He  was  quite  equal  to  withstand  or  out-general 
the  schemes  of  any  set  of  manceuvers  ;  therefore  it  was  plain  he 
did  not  care  for  the  society  of  his  little  friend  and  companion  of 
old  time.  Fleda  felt  it,  especially  as  she  now  and  then  heard  him 
in  delightful  talk  with  somebody  else  ;  making  himself  so  interest 
ing  that  when  Fleda  could  get  a  chance  to  listen  she  was  quite  ready 
tp  forgive  his  not  talking  to  her  for  the  pleasure  of  hearing  him 
talk  at  all.  But  at  other  times  she  said  sorrowfully  to  herself,  "  He 
will  be  going  home  presently,  and  I  shall  not  have  seen  him  !  " 

One  day  she  had  successfully  defended  herself  against  taking  a  drive 
which  Mr.  Thorn  came  to  propose,  though  the  proposition  had  been 
laughingly  backed  by  Mrs.  Evelyn  Raillery  was  much  harder  to 
withstand  than  persuasion  ;  but  Fleda's  quiet  resolution  had  proved 
a  match  for  both.  The  better  to  cover  her  ground,  she  declined 
to  go  out  at  all,  and  remained  at  home  the  only  one  of  the  family 
that  fine  day. 

In  the  afternoon  Mr.  Carleton  was  there.  Fleda  sat  a  little 
apart  from  the  rest,  industriously  bending  over  a  complicated  piece 
of  embroidery  belonging  to  Constance  and  in  which  that  young 
lady  had  made  a  great  blunder  which  she  declared  her  patience  un 
equal  to  the  task  of  rectifying.  The  conversation  went  gayly  for 
ward  among  the  others  ;  Fleda  taking  no  part  in  it  beyond  an  invol 
untary  one.  Mr.  Carleton' s  part  was  rather  reserved  and  grave  ; 
according  to  his  manner  in  ordinary  society. 

"What  do  you  keep  bothering  yourself  with  that  for?'  said 
Editli  coming  to  Fleda's  side. 

"  One  must  be  doing  something,  you  know,"  said  Fleda  lightly. 
'No  you  mustn't — not  when  you're  tired — and  I  know  you  are, 
I  d  let  Constance  pick  out  her  own  work." 

"  I  promised  her  I  would  do  it,"  said  Fleda, 

"  Well  you  didn't  promise  her  when.  Come  ! — everybody's  been 
out  but  you,  and  you  have  sat  here  over  this  the  whole  day.  Why 
don't  you  come  over  there  and  talk  with  the  rest  ? — I  know  yow 
want  to  for  I've  watched  your  mouth  going." 

"  Going  ! — how  ?  " 

"Going — off  at  the  corners.     I've  seen  it  ?.    Come." 

But  Fleda  said  she  could  listen  and  work  at  once,  and  would 
not  budge.  Edith  stood  looking  at  her  a  little  while  in  a  kind  of 
admiring  sympathy,  and  then  \vent  back  to  the  group. 

"Mr.  Carleton,"  said  the  young  lady,  who  was  treading  with 
laudable  success  in  the  steps  of  her  sister  Constance, — "  what  has 
become  of  that  ride  you  promised  to  give  me?  " 


390  QVEECHY. 

"I  do  not  know,  Miss  Edith,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  smiling,  "for 
my  conscience  never  had  the  keeping  of  it. " 

"  Hush  Edith?  "  said  her  mother  ;  "do  you  think  Mr.  Carleton 
has  nothing  to  do  but  to  take  you  riding  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  he  has  much  to  do,"  said  Edith  securely.  "  But 
Mr.  Carleton,  you  did  promise,  for  I  asked  you  and  you  said  noth 
ing  ;  and  I  always  have  been  told  that  silence  gives  consent  ;  sc 
what  is  to  become  of  it  ?  " 

"  Will  you  go  now,  Miss  Edith  ?" 

"Now? — O  yes!  And  will  you  go  out  to  Manhattanville5  Mz 
Carleton? — along  by  the  river?" 

"If  you  like.  But  Miss  Edith,  the  carriage  will  hold  another—, 
eannot  you  persuade  one  of  these  ladies  to  go  with  us?  " 

"  Fleda  ;  "  said  Edith,  springing  off  to  her  with  extravagant  capers 
*f  joy, — "  Fleda,  you  shall  go  !  you  haven't  been  out  to-day." 

44  And  I  cannot  go  out  to-day,"  said  Fleda  gently. 

"  The  air  is  very  fine,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  approaching  her  table, 
with  no  want  of  alacrity  in  step  or  tone,  her  ears  knew  ; — "  antt 
this  weather  makes  everything  beautiful—has  that  piece  of  canvass 
any  claims  upon  you  that  cannot  be  put  aside  for  a  little  ?" 

"No  sir,"  said  Fleda, — "but — I  am  sorry  I  have  a  stronger 
reason  that  must  keep  me  at  home." 

"  She  knows  how  the  weather  looks,"  said  Edith, — "  Mr  Thorn 
takes  her  out  every  other  day.  It's  no  use  to  talk  to  her,  Mr.  Carle- 
ton, — when  she  says  she  won't,  she  won't." 

"  Every  other  day  !  "  said  Fleda. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  coming  up,  and  with  that  smile 
which  Fleda  had  never  liked  so  little  as  at  that  minute, — "  not 
every  other  day,  Edith,  what  are  you  talking  of?  Go  and  don't 
keep  Mr.  Carleton  waiting." 

Fleda  worked  ©n,  feeling  a  little  aggrieved.  Mr.  Carleton  stood 
still  by  her  table,  watching  her,  while  his  companions  were  get 
ting  themselves  ready  ;  but  he  said  no  more,  and  Fleda  did  not 
raise  her  head  till  the  party  were  off.  Florence  had  taken  her  re 
signed  place. 

"  I  dare  say  the  weather  will  be  quite  as  fine  to-morrow,  dear 
Fleda,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  softly. 
*    "I  hope  it  will,"  said  Fleda  in  a  tone  of  resolute  simplicity. 

•«  I  only  hope  it  will  not  bring  too  great  a  throng  of  carriagec 
to  the  door,"  Mrs.  Evelyn  went  on  in  a  tone  of  great  internal 
amusement  ; — "  I  never  used  to  mind  it,  but  I  have  lately  a  nerv 
ous  fear  of  collisions." 

"To-morrow  is  not  your  reception-day,"  said  Fleda. 

"No,  not  mine,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  softly, — "  but  that  doesn't 
signify — it  may  be  one  of  my  neighbors'." 

Fleda  pulled  away  at  her  threads  of  worsted  and  wouldn't  know 
anything  else. 

"  I  have  read  of  the  servants  of  Lot  and  the  servants  of  Abraham 
quarrelling,"  Mrs.  Evelyn  went  on  in  the  same  undertone  of  de- 
hght, — "  because  the  land  was  too  strait  for  them—I  should  be  very 
sorry  to  have  anything  of  the  sort  happen  again,  for  I  cannot  imag 
ine  where  Lot  would  go  to  ftnd  a  plain  that  would  suit  him/' 


"Lot  and  Abraham,  mamma  !  "  said  Constance  from  the  sofa, 
— "  what  on  earth  are  you 'talking  about?  " 

"None  of  'ydlrf  "tDusiness/"  said  Mrs.  £velyn  ; — "  I  was  talking 
of  some  country  friends  of  mine  that  you  don't  know." 

Constance ^knew  her  mother's  laugh  very  well ;  but  Mrs.  Evelyr. 
was  im penetrable. 

The  next  day  Fte'd'a  ran  away  and  spent  a  good  part  of  the  morn 
ing  with  her  uncle  Tn'the  library,  looking  over  new  books  ;  among 
i'.-hich  she  found  herself  quite  a  stranger,  so  many  had  made  their 
opearance  since  the  time  when  she  had  much  to  do  with  libraries 
/r  bookstores.  Living  friends,  male  and  female,  were  happily 
forgotten  fri  "the  "delighted"';! Cquainta nee-making  with  those  quiet 
companions  which,  whatever  their  deficiencies  in  other  respects,  are 
at  least  never  importunate  nor  unfaithful.  Fleda  had  come  home 
rather  late  and  was  dressing  for  dinner  with  Constance's  company 
arid  help,  when  Mrs.  Evelyn  came  into  her  room. 

"  My  dear  Fleda,"  said  the  lady,  her  face  and  voice  as  full  as 
possible  of  fun,—  "  Mr!  Carlefon  wants  to  know  if  you  will  ride  with 
him  this  afternoon. — I  told  him  1  believed  you  were  in  general  shy 
of  gentleman  that  "drove"  their  own  horses — that  I  thought  I  had 
noticed  you  were, — but  1  would  come  up  and  see." 

"  "Mrs.' Evelyn '!— you  d"id  not  tell  him  that  ?  " 

"  H£  said  h'e  was  sorry"  to  see  you  looked  pale  yesterday  when  he 
was  asking  you  ;  and  lie  was  afraid  that  embroidery  is' not  good 
for  you'.  He thfhVs  you  are"  a  very  charming  girl  !— 

Arid  Mrs.  Evelyn*  went  off  into  little  fits  of  laughter  which  un 
strung  all  Fleda's  nerves.  She  stood  absolutely  trembling. 

"  Mamma  !— don't  plague  Her  !  "  said  Constance.  "  He  didn't 
say  so." 

"  He  did! — upon  my  word  ! — "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  speaking  with 
great  difficulty  ;— "  he  said  she  was  very  charming,  and  it  might  be 
dangerous  to' see  too  much  or"  her." 

"  You  made  him  say  that,  Mrs.  Evelyn  !  "  said  Fleda  reproach 
fully. 

"  Well  I  did  ask  Kim  if  you  were  not  very  charming,  but  he  an- 
iwered — without  hesitation-  "  said  the  lady, — "  I  am  only  so  afraid 
^hat  Lei  wiTl  make  his  appearance  ! — " 

Fle'da \iirned  round  to  the  glass,  and  went  on  arranging  her  hair, 
A'-th  a  quivering  lip. 

"'  Lot,  mamma"!  "  said  Constance  aomewhat  indignantly. 

"Yes,"  said 'Mrs.  Evelyn  in  ecstasies, — "because  the  land  will 
not  bear  both  of  them. — But  Mr.  Carieton  is  very  much  in  earnest 
for  his  answer,  Fleda  my  dear — what  shall  I  tell  him  ? — You  need 
be  under  no  apprehensions  about  going — he  will  perhaps  tell  you 
that  you  are  charming,  but  I  don't  think  he  will  say  anything  more. 
You  know  he  is  a  kind  of  patriarch  !  And  when  I  asked  him  if  he 
didn't  think  it  might  be  dangerous  to  see  too  much  of  you,  he  said 
he  thought  it  might  to  some  people — so  you  see  you  are  safe." 

"  Mrs.  Evelvh,  how  could  you  use  my  name  so!"  said  Fledi. 
with  a  voice  that  carried  a  good  deal  of  reproach. 

"  iVTy  dear  Fleda ,  shall  I  tell  him  you  will  go? — You  need  not  ite 
afraid  to  ^6  rTdfrig^only  ytiu  must  "not  ie.  yourself  be  seen  walking 
with  hin>.' 


322 

"  I  shall  not  go,  ma'am,"  said  Fleda  quietly. 

"  I  wanted  to  send  Edith  with  you,  thinking  it  would  be  pleas- 
anter ;  but  I  knew  Mr.  Carleton's  carriage  would  hold  but  two  to 
day.  So  what  shall  I  tell  him  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  going,  ma'am,"  repeated  Fleda. 

' '  But  what  shall  1  tell  him  ?  I  must  give  him  some  reason.  Shall 
I  say  that  you  think  a  sea-breeze  is  blowing,  and  you  don't  like 
it  ? — or  shall  I  say  that  prospects  are  a  matter  of  indifference  to 
you?  " 

Fleda  was  quite  silent,  and  went  on  dressing  herself  with  trem 
bling  fingers. 

"  My  dear  Fleda,"  said  the  lady  bringing  her  face  a  little  into 
order, — "  won't  you  go?— I  am  very  sorry — " 

'-'So  am  I  sorry,"  said  Fleda.     "  I  can't  go,  Mrs.,  Evelyn." 

"  I  will  tell  Mr.  Carleton  you  are  very  sorry,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn, 
every  line  of  her  face  drawing  again, — "  that  will  console  him  ;  and 
let  him  hope  that  you  will  not  mind  sea-breezes  by  and  by,  after  you 
have  been  a  little  longer  in  the  neighborhood  of  them.  1  will  tell 
him  you  are  a  good  republican,  and  have  an  objection  at  present  to 
an  English  equipage,  but  I  have  no  doubt  that  ic  a  prejudice  which 
will  wear  off." 

She  stopped  to  laugh,  while  Fleda  had  the  greatest  difficulty  not 
to  cry.  Ihe  lady  did  not  seem  to  see  her  disturbed  brow  ;  but  re 
covering  herself  after  a  little,  though  not  readily,  she  bent  forward 
and  touched  her  lips  to  it  in  kind  fashion.  Fleda  did  not  look  up  ; 
and  saying  again,  "I  will  tell  him,  dear  Fleda!  " — Mrs.  Evelyn 
left  the  room. 

Constance  after  a  little  laughing  and  condoling,  neither  of  which 
Fleda  attempted  to  answer,  ran  off  too,  to  dress  herself  ;  and  Fleda 
after  finishing  her  own  toilette  locked  her  door,  sat  down  and  cried 
heartily.  She  though*  Mrs.  Evelyn  had  been,  perhaps  uncon 
sciously,  very  unkind  ;  and  to  say  that  unkindness  has  not  been  meant 
is  but  to  shift  the  charge  from  one  to  another  vital  point  in  the 
character  of  a  friend,  and  one  perhaps  sometimes  not  less  grave. 
A  moment's  passionate  wrong  may  consist  with  the  endurance  of  a 
friendship  worth  having,  better  than  the  thoughtlessness  of  obtuse 
wits  that  can  never  know  how  to  be  kind.  Fleda's  whole  frame 
was  still  in  a  tremor  from  disagreeable  excitemen;;  and  she  hao 
serious  causes  of  sorrow  to  cry  for.  She  was  sorry  she  had  lost 
what  would  have  been  a  great  pleasure  in  the  ride, — and  her  great 
pleasures  were  not  often, — but  nothing  would  have  been  more  im 
possible  than  for  her  to  go  after  what  Mrs.  Evelyn  had  said  ; — she 
was  sorry  Mr.  Carleton  should  have  asked  her  twice  in  vain  ;  what 
must  he  think? — she  was  exceeding  sorry  that  a  thought  should 
have  been  put  into  her  head  that  never  before  had  visited  the  most 
distant  dreams  of  her  imagination, — so  needlessly,  so  gratuitously  ; 
— she  was  very  sorry,  for  she  could  not  be  free  of  it  again,  and  she 
felt  it  would  make  her  miserably  hampered  and  constrained  in  mind 
and  manner  both,  in  any  future  intercourse  with  the  person  in 
question.  And  then  again  what  would  he  think  of  that?  Poor 
Fleda  came  to  the  conclusion  that  her  best  place  was  at  home  ;  and 
made  up  her  mind  to  take  the  first  good  opportunity  of  getting 
there. 


QVEECHY.  393 

She  went  down  to  dinner  with  no  traces  of  either  tears  or  unkind- 
ness  on  her  sweet  face,  but  her  nerves  were  quivering  all  the  after 
noon  ;  she  could  not  tell  whether  Mrs.  Evelyn  and  her  daughters 
found  it  out.  And  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  get  back  even  her 
old  degree  of  freedom  of  manner  before  either  Mr.  Carleton  or  Mr. 
Thorn.  All  the  more  because  Mrs.  Evelyn  was  every  now  and 
then  bringing  out  some  sly  allusion  which  afforded  herself  intense 
delight  and  wrought  Fleda  to  the  last  degree  of  quietness.  Unkind, 
« — Fleda  thought  now  it  was  but  half  from  ignorance  of  the  mis 
chief  she  was  doing,  and  the  other  half  from  the  mere  desire  of 
selfish  gratification.  The  times  and  ways  in  which  Lot  and  Abra 
ham  were  walked  into  the  conversation  were  incalculable, — and  un 
intelligible,  except  to  the  person  who  understood  it  only  too  well. 
On  one  occasion  Mrs.  Evelyn  went  on  with  a  long  rigmarole  to  Mr. 
Thorn  about  sea-breezes,  with  a  face  of  most  exquisite  delight  at 
his  mystification  and  her  own  hidden  fun  ;  till  Fleda  was  absolutely 
trembling.  Fleda  shunned  both  the  gentlemen  at  length  with  a 
kind  of  nervous  horror. 

One  steamer  had  left  New  York,  and  another,  and  still  Mr.  Carle- 
ton  did  not  leave  it.  Why  he  staid,  Constance  was  as  much  in  a 
puzzle  as  ever,  for  no  mortal  could  guess.  Clearly,  she  said,  he 
did  not  delight  in  New  York  society,  for  he  honored  it  as  slightly 
and  partially  as  might  be,  and  it  was  equally  clear  if  he  had  a  par 
ticular  reason  for  staying  he  didn't  mean  anybody  should  know  it. 

"  If  he  don't  mean  it,  you  won't  find  it  out,  Constance,"  said 
Fleda. 

"But  it  is  that  very  consideration,  you  see,  which  inflames  my 
impatience  to  a  most  dreadful  degree.  I  think  our  house  is  distin* 
guished  with  his  regards,  though  I  am  sure  I  can't  imagine  why, 
for  he  never  condescends  to  anything  beyond  general  benevolence 
when  he  is  here,  and  not  always  to  that.  He  has  no  taste  for  em 
broidery,  or  Miss  Ringgan's  crewels  would  receive  more  of  his 
notice — he  listens  to  my  spirited  conversation  with  a  self-possession 
which  invariably  deprives  me  of  mine  ! — and  his  ear  is  evidently 
dull  to  musical  sensibilities,  or  Florence's  harp  would  have  greater 
charms.  I  hope  there  is  a  web  weaving  somewhere  that  will  catch 
him — at  present  he  stands  in  an  attitude  of  provoking  independence 
of  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  It  is  curious  !  "  said  Constance  with 
an  indescribable  face, — "  I  feel  that  the  independence  of  another  is 
rapidly  making  a  slave  of  me  ! — " 

"What  do  you  mean,  Constance?"  said  Edith  indignantly.  But 
ihe  others  could  do  nothing  but  laugh. 

Fleda  did  not  wonder  that  Mr.  Carleton  made  no  more  efforts 
to  get  her  to  ride,  for  the  very  next  day  after  his  last  failure  he 
had  met  her  driving  with  Mr.  'Thorn.  Fleda  had  been  asked  by 
Mr.  Thorn's  mother  in  such  a  way  as  made  it  impossible  to  get 
off  ;  but  it  caused  her  to  set  a  fresh  seal  of  unkindness  to  Mrs. 
Evelyn's  behavior. 

One  evening  when  there  was  no  other  company  at  Mrs.  Evelyn's, 
Mr.  Stackpole  was  entertaining  himself  with  a  long  dissertation 
upon  the  affairs  of  America,  past,  present,  and  future.  It  was  a 
favorite  subject  ;  Mr.  Stackpole  always  seemed  to  have  more  com- 
Dlacent  enjoyment  of  his  easy  chair  when  he  could  succeed  inmate 


J24  QVKFA'HY. 

ing  every  Amc'ricar  sit  uncomfortably.  And  this  time, 

without  any  one  to  thwart  him,  he  went  on  to  his  hfeart'S  content, 
disposing  of  the  subject  as  one  would  strip  a  rose  of  its  petals,  with 
as  much  seeming  nonchalance  and  ease,  and  with  precisely  the 
same  design,  to  make  a  rose  no  rose.  Leaf  after  leaf  fell  under 
Mr.  Stackpole' s  touch,  as  if  it  had  been  a  black  frost.  The 
American  government  was  a  rickety  experiment  ;  go  to  pieces 
presently  ; — American  institutions  an  alternative  between  fallacy  and 
absurdity,  the  fruit  of  raw  minds  and  precocious  theories  ; — Ameri 
can  liberty  a  contradiction  ; — American  character  a  compound  of 
quackery  and  pretension; — American  society,  (except  at  Mrs, 
Evelyn's)  an  anomaly  ; — American  destiny  the  same  with  that  of  a 
Cactus  or  a  volcano  ;  a  period  of  rest  followed  by  a  period  of  ex- 
citemen ; ;  not  however  like  the  former  making  successive  shoots 
toward  perfection,  but  like  the  latter  grounding  every  new  face  of 
things  upon  the  demolition  of  that  which  went  oefore.  Smoothly 
and  pleasantly  Mr.  Stackpole  went  on  compounding  this  cup  of 
entertainment  for  himself  and  his  hearer;,  smacking  his  lips  over 
it,  and  all  the  more,  Fleda  thought,  when  they  made  wry  faces  ; 
throwing  in  a  little  truth,  a  good  deal  of  fallacy,  a  great  deal  of 
perversion  and  misrepresentation  ;  while  Mrs.  Evelyn  listened  and 
smiled,  and  half  parried  and  half  assented  to  his  positions  ;  and 
Fleda  sat  impatiently  drumming  upon  her  elbow  with  the  fingers 
of  her  other  hand,  in  the  sheer  necessity  of  giving  some  expression 
to  her  feelings.  Mr.  Stackpole  at  last  got  his  fiiiger  upon  the  sore 
spot  of  American  slavery,  and  pressed  it  hard. 

"  This  is  the  land  of  the  stars  and  the  stripes  !  "  said  the  gentle 
man  in  a  little  fit  of  virtuous  indignation  ;  "This  is  the  land  where 
all  are  brothers ! — where  '  All  men  are  born  free  and  equal.' 

"  Mr.  Stackpole,"  said  Fleda  in  a  tone  that  called  his  attention, 
— "  are  you  well  acquainted  with  the  popular  proverbs  of  your 
country  ?" 

"  Not  particularly,"  he  said, — "  he  had  never  made  it  a  branch 
of  study." 

"  I  am  a  great  admirer  of  them." 

He  bowed,  and  begged  to  be  excused  for  remarking  that  he  didn't 
see  the  point  yet. 

"  Do  you  remember  this  one,  sir,"  said  Fleda  coloring  a  little,— 
'  «  Those  that  live  in  glass  houses  shouldn't  throw  stones? '  ' 

"  I  have  heard  it ;  but  pardon  me, — though  your  remark  seems 
>-Q  imply  the  contrary  I  am  in  the  dark  yet.  What  unfortunate 
points  of  vitrification  have  I  laid  open  to  your  fire  ? " 

"  I  thought  they  were  probably  forgotten  by  you,  sir." 

"  I  shall  be  exceedingly  obliged  to  you  if  you  will  put  me  in  con 
dition  to  defend  myself." 

"  I  think  nothing  could  do  that,  Mr.  Stackpole.  Under  whose 
auspices  and  fostering^care  was  this  curse  of  slavery  laid  upon 
America  ?  " 

"Why — of  course, — but  you  will  observe,  Miss  Rifiggan,  that  at 
that  day  the  world  was  unenlightened  on  a  great  many  points  ; — 
since  then  we  have  cast  off  the  wrong  which  we  then  shared  with 
the  rest  of  mankind." 

"  Ay  sir,  but  not  until  ws  had  first  repudiated  it  and  Englishing 


QUEECRr.  325 

had   desired   to   force   it  back  upon  us  at  the  point  of  the  sword. 
Four  times  "— 

"But,  my  dear  Fleda,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Evelyn,  "the  English 
nation  have  no  slaves  nor  slave-trade — they  have  put  an  end  to 
slavery  entirely  everywhere  under  their  flag." 

"  They  were  very  slow  about  it,"  said  Fleda.  "  Four  timesthe 
government  of  Massachusetts  abolished  the  slavetrade  under  their 
control,  and  four  times  the  English  government  thrust  it  back  upon 
them.  Do  you  remember  what  Burke  says  a,bout  that  ? — in  his 
speech  on  Conciliation  with  America?  " 

•'  It  don't  signify  what  Burke  says  about  it,"  said  Mr.  Stack- 
pole  rubbing  his  chin, — "  Burke  is  not  the  first  authority — but  Miss 
Ring^an,  it  is  undeniable  that  slavery  and  the  slave-trade  too, 
does  at  this  moment  exist  in  the  inter'or  of  your  own  country." 

'•  1  will  never  excuse  what  is  wrong,  sir  ;  but  I  think  it  becomes 
an  Englishman  to  be  very  moderate  in  putting  forth  that  charge." 

"  Wny?"  said  he  hastily; — "we  have  done  away  with  it  en 
tirely  in  our  own  dominions  ; — wiped  that  stain  clean  off.  Not  a 
slave  can  touch  British  ground  but  he  breathes  free  air  from  that 
minute." 

"  Yes  sir,  but  candor  will  allow  that  we  are  not  in  a  condition  in 
this  country  to  decide  the  question  by  a  tour  de  force  " 

"  What  is  to  decide  it  then  ? "  said  he  a  little  arrogantly. 

"  The  progress  of  truth  in  public  opinion." 

"  And  why  not  the  government — as  well  as  our  government  ?  " 

"  It  has  not  the  power,  you  know,  sir." 

"  Not  the  power!   well,  that  speaks  for  itself." 

"  Nothing  against  us,  on  a  fair  construction,"  said  Fleda.  pa 
tiently.  "It  is  well  known,  to  those  who  understand  the  sub 
ject  "- 

"Where  did  you  learn  so  much  about  it,  Fleda?"  said  Mrs. 
Evelyn  humorously. 

"  As  the  birds  pick  up  their  supplies,  ma'am — here  and  there. 
— It  is  well  known,  Mr.  Stackpole,  that  our  constitution  never  could 
have  been  agreed  upon  if  that  question  of  slavery  had  not  been  by 
common  consent  left  where  it  was — with  the  separate  state  govern 
ments." 

"  The  separate  state  governments — well,  why  do  not  they  put  an 
?nd  to  it  ?  The  disgrace  is  only  shifted." 

;<  Of  course  they  must  first  have  the  consent  of  the  public  mind 
of  those  states." 

11  Ah  !  --their  consent ! — and  why  is  their  consent  wanting?  '* 
'  We   cannot    defend    ourselves  there,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  ; — '*  I 
wish  we  could." 

"  The  disgrace  at  least  is  shifted  from  the  whole  to  a  part.  But 
will  you  permit  me,"  said  Fleda,  "  to  give  another  quotation  from 
my  despised  authority,'  and  remind  you  of  an  Englishman's  testi 
mony,  that  beyond  a  doubt  that  point  of  emancipation  would  never 
have  been  carried  in  parliament  had  the  interests  of  even  a  part  of 
the  electors  been  concerned  in  it." 

•'  It  was  done  however, — and  done  at  the  expense  of  twenty 
millions  of  money," 

4<  And  I  am  sure  that  was  very  noble,"  said  Florence. 


"  It  was  wttat  no  nation  but  the  English  would  ever  have  done/ 
said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"  1  do  not  wish  to  dispute  it,"  said  Fleda  ;  "  but  still  it  was  doing 
what  did  not  touch  the  sensitive  point  of  their  own  well-being." 

"  We  think  there  is  a  little  national  honor  concerned  it  it,"  said 
Mr.  Stackpole  dryly,  stroking  his  chin  again. 

"  So  does  every  right-minded  person,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  ;  "  I  am 
sure  I  do." 

"  And  I  am  sure  so  do  I,"  said  Fleda  ;  "  but  I  think  the  honor 
of  a  piece  of  generosity  is  considerably  lessened  by  the  fact  that  it 
Is  done  at  the  expense  of  another." 

"  Generosity  !  "  said  Mr.  Stackpole, — "  it  was  not  generosity,  it 
was  justice  ; — there  was  no  generosity  about  it." 

"Then  it  deserves  no  honor  at  all,"  said  Fleda,  "  if  it  was  merely 
that — the  tardy  execution  of  justice  is  but  the  removal  of  a  re 
proach." 

"  We  Englishmen  are  of  opinion  however,"  said  Mr.  Stackpole 
contentedly,  "  that  the  removers  of  a  reproach  are  entitled  to  some 
honor  which  those  who  persist  in  retaining  it  cannot  claim." 

"  Yes,"  said  Fleda,  drawing  rather  along;  breath, — "  I  acknowl 
edge  that ;  but  I  think  that  while  some  of  these  same  English 
men  have  shown  themselves  so  unwilling  to  have  the  condition  of 
their  own  factory  slaves  ameliorated,  they  should  be  very  gentle  in 
speaking  of  wrongs  which  we  have  far  less  ability  to  rectify." 

"Ah! — I  like  consistency,"  said  Mr.  Stackpole.  "America 
shouldn't  dress  up  poles  with  liberty  caps  till  all  who  walk  under 
are  free  to  wear  them.  She  cannot  boast  that  the  breath  of  her  air 
and  the  breath  of  freedom  are  one." 

"  Can  England  ?  "  said  Fleda  gently, — "  when  her  own  citizens 
are  not  free  from  the  horrors  of  impressment  ?  " 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  Mr.  Stackpole,  half  in  a  pet  and  half  laughing, 
— "  why  where  did  you  get  such  a  fury  against  England  ?- — you  are 
the  first  fair  antagonist  I  have  met  on  this  side  of  the  water." 

"  I  wish  I  was  a  better  one,  sir,"  said  Fleda  laughing. 

"  Miss  Ringgan  has  been  prejudiced  by  an  acquaintance  with  one 
or  two  unfortunate  specimens,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"Ay!"  said  Mr.  Stackpole  a  little  bitterly, — "America  is  the 
natural  birthplace  of  prejudice, — always  was." 

"  Displayed  first,  in  maintaining  the  rights  against  the  swords  of 
Englishmen  ; — latterly,  how,  Mr.  Stackpole?" 

41  It  isn't  necessary  to  enlighten^//  on  any  part  of  the  subject,' 
said  he  a  little  pointedly. 

"  Fleda,  my  dear,  you  are  answered  !  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  appar 
ently  with  great  internal  amusement. 

"Yet  you  will  indulge  me  so  far  as  to  indicate  what  part  of  the 
subject  you  are  upon  ?"  said  Fleda  quietly. 

"  You  must  grant  so  much  as  that  to  so  gentle  a  requisition,  Mr. 
Stackpole."  said  the  older  lady. 

"  I  venture  to  assume  that  you  do  not  say  that  on  your  own  ac 
count,  Mrs.  Evelyn  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all — I  agree  with  you.  that  Americans  are  prejudiced  ; 
but  I  think  it  will  pass  off,  Mr.  Stackpole,  as  they  learn  to  know 
themselves  and  other  countries  better." 


QUEECHY.  327 

•'  But  how  do  they  deserve  such  a  charge  and  such  a  defence  ? 
or  how  have  they  deserved  it?  "  said  Fleda. 

"Tell  her,  Mr.  Stackpole,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

11  Why,"  said  Mr.  Stackpole, — "in  their  absurd  opposition  to  all 
the  old  and  tried  forms  of  things,  and  rancorous  dislike  of  those 
who  uphold  them ;  and  in  their  pertinacity  on  every  point  where 
they  might  be  set  right,  and  impatience  of  hearing  the  truth.*' 

"  Are  they  singular  in  that  last  item?  "  said  Fleda. 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Stackpole  not  heeding  her, — "there's  your 
treatment  of  the  aborigines  of  this  country — what  do  you  call  that, 
:or  a  free  people  ?  ' ' 

"  A  powder  magazine,  communicating  with  a  great  one  of  youi 
own  somewhere  else  ;  so  if  you  are  a  good  subject,  sir,  you  will  not 
carry  a  lighted  candle  into  it." 

"  One  of  our  own — where?  "  said  he. 

"  In  India,"  said  Fleda  with  a  glance, — "  and  there  are  I  don't 
know  how  many  trains  leading  to  it, — so  better  hands  off,  sir." 

"Where  did  you  pick  up  such  a  spite  against  us?"  said  Mr. 
Stackpole,  drawing  a  little  back  and  eyeing  her  as  one  would  a  bel 
ligerent  mouse  or  cricket.  "  Will  you  tell  me  now  that  Americans 
are  not  prejudiced  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  call  prejudice  ?  "  said  Fleda  smiling. 

"  O  there  is  a  great  deal  of  it,  no  doubt,  here,  Mr.  Stackpole," 
said  Mrs.  Evelyn  blandly  ; — "  but  we  shall  grow  out  of  it  in  time  ; 
— it  is  only  the  premature  wisdom  of  a  young  people." 

"  And  young  people  never  like  to  hear  their  wisdom  rebuked," 
said  Mr.  Stackpole  bowing. 

"  Fleda,  my  dear,  what  for  is  that  little  significant  shake  of  your 
head  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  in  her  amused  voice. 

"  A  trifle,  ma'am." 

"  Covers  a  hidden  rebuke,  Mrs.  Evelyn,  I  have  no  doubt,  for 
both  our  last  remarks.  What  is  it,  Miss  Fleda  ? — I  dare  say  we  can 
bear  it." 

"  I  was  thinking,  sir,  that  none  would  trouble  themselves  much, 
about  our  foolscap  if  we  had  not  once  made  them  wear  it." 

"  Mr.  Stackpole,  you  are  worsted  ! — I  only  wish  Mr.  Carleton  had 
been  here !  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  with  a  face  of  excessive  delight. 

"  I  wish  he  had,"  said  Fleda,  "  for  then  I  need  not  have  spoken 
a  word." 

"Why,"  said  Mr.  Stackpole  a  little  irritated,  "  you  suppose  he 
would  have  fought  for  you  against  me?  " 

"  I  suppose  he  would  have  fought  for  truth  against  anybody,  sir,'c 
said  Fleda. 

"  Even  against  his  own  interests  ?  " 

"  If  I  am  not  mistaken  in  him,"  said  Fleda,  "  he  reckons  his  own 
and  those  of  truth  identical." 

The  shout  that  was  raised  at  this  by  all  the  ladies  of  the  family 
made  her  look  up  in  wonderment. 

"  Mr.  Carleton," — said  Mrs.  Evelyn, — "  what  do  you  say  to  that, 
sir." 

The  direction  of  the  lady's  eye  made  Fleda  spring  up  and  face 
about.  The  gentleman  in  question  was  standing  quietly  at  the  back 
of  her  chair,  too  quietly,  she  saw,  to  leave  any  doubt  of  his  having 


328  QUEECHY. 

been  there  some  time.  Mr.  Stackpole  uttered  an  ejaculation;  but 
Fleda  stood  absolutely  motionless,  and  nothing  could  be  prettier 
than  her  color. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  what  you  have  heard,  Mr.  Carleton?  ;'  said 
Mrs.  Evelyn. 

Fleda' s  eyes  were  on  the  floor  but  she  thoroughly  appreciated  the 
tone  of  the  question. 

"  I  hardly  know  whether  I  have  listened  with  most  pleasure  or 
pain,  Mrs.  Evelyn." 

"  Pleasure  !  "  said  Constance. 

"Pain!  "  said  Mr.  Stackpole. 

"  I  am  certain  Miss  Ringgan  was  pure  from  any  intention  of  giv* 
ing  pain,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  with  her  voice  of  contained  fun.  "  She 
has  no  national  antipathies,  I  am  sure, — unless  in  the  case  of  the 
Jews, — she  is  too  charming  a  girl  for  that." 

"Miss  Ringgan  cannot  regret  Jess  than  I  a  word  that  she  has 
spoken,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  looking  keenly  at  her  as  she  drew  back 
and  took  a  seat  a  little  off  from  the  rest. 

"  Then  why  was  the  pain  ?  "  said  Mr.  Stackpole. 

"That  there  should  have  been  any  occasion  for  them,  sir." 

"Well  I  wasn't  sensible  of  the  occasion,  so  I  didn't  feel  the  pain," 
said  Mr.  Stackpole  dryly,  for  the  other  gentleman's  tone  was  almost 
haughtily  significant.  "  But  if  I  had,  the  pleasure  of  such  spark 
ling  eyes  would  have  made  me  forget  it.  Good-evening,  Mrs.  Eve 
lyn — good-evening,  my  gentle  antagonist, —  it  seems  to  me  you  have 
learned,  if  it  is  permissible  to  alter  one  of  your  favorite  proverbs, 
that  it  is  possible  to  break  t^vo  windows  with  one  stone.  However, 
I  don't  feel  that  I  go  away  with  any  of  mine  shattered." — 

"  Fleda  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  laughing, — "  what  do  you 
say  to  that?" 

"As  he  is  not  here  I  will  say  nothing  to  it,  Mrs.  Evelyn,"  said 
Fleda,  quietly  drawing  off  to  the  table  with  her  work,  and  again  in 
a  tremor  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Why,  didn't  you  see  Mr.  Carleton  come  in  ?  "  said  Edith  follow 
ing  her  ; — "  I   did — he  came  in  long  before  you  had  done  talking, 
And   mamma  held  up  her  finger  apd  made  him  stop  ;  and  he  stood 
if.  the  back  of  your  chair  the  whole  time  listening.     Mr.  Stackpole 
i  In't  know  he  was  there  either.   But  what's  the  matter  with  you  ? ' 
•  Nothing — "  said  Fleda, — but  she  made  her  escape  out  of  the 
c.cni  the  next  instant. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Edith,  "  what  ails  Fleda  ?  " 

<  I  don't  know,  my  love,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn.    "  Nothing  I  hoptc 

'•There  does,  though,"  said  Edith  decidedly. 

"Come  here,  Edith,"  said  Constance,  "  and  don't  meddle  witk 
matters  above  your  comprehension.  Miss  Ringgan  has  probably 
hurt  her  hand  with  throwing  stones." 

"  Hurt  her  hand  !  "  said  Edith.  But  she  was  taken  possession 
nf  by  her  eldest  sister. 

"that  is  a  lovely  girl,  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  with  an 
indescribable  look — outwardly  benign,  but  beneath  that  most  keen 
ill-its  scrutiny. 

He  bowed  rather  abstr?ctedly, 


*' She  will  make  a  charming  little  farmer's  wife,  don't  you  £hink 
»i>" 

"Is  that  her  lot,  Mrs.  Evelyn?"  he  said  with  a  somewhat  in 
credulous  smile. 

"  Why  no — not  precisely, — "  said  the  lady,—"  you  know  in  the 
country,  or  you  do  not  know,  the  ministers  are  half  fanners,  but  I 
suppose  not  more  than  half;  just  such  a  mixture  as  will  suit  P"leda, 
I  should  think.  She  has  not  told  me  in  so  many  words,  but  it  if 
2asy  to  read  so  ingenuous  a  nature  as  hers,  and  1  have  discovered 
:hat  there  is  a  most  deserving  young  friend  of  mine  settled  at 
Queechy  that  she  is  by  no  means  indifferent  to.  I  take  it  for  granted 
t'iat  will  be  the  end  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  pinching  her  sofa 
cushion  in  a  great  many  successive  places,  with  a  most  composed 
and  satisfied  air. 

But  Mr.  Carleton  did  not  seem  at  all  interested  in  the  subject, 
and  presently  introduced  another. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

It  is  a  hard  matter  for  friends  to  meet ;  but  mountains  may  be  removed 
with  earthquakes,  and  so  encounter. — As  You  LIKE  IT. 

"  WHAT  have  we  to  do  to-night  ?  "  said  Florence  at  breakfast  the 
next  morning. 

"  You  have  no  engagement,  have  you?"  said  her  mother. 

"  No  mamma,"  said  Constance  arching  her  eyebrows, — "  we  are 
to  taste  the  sweets  of  domestic  life — you  as  head  of  the  family  will 
go  to  sleep  in  the  dormeuse,  and  Florence  and  I  shall  take  turns  in 
yawning  by  your  side." 

"  And  what  will  Fleda  do?  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  laughing. 

"  Fleda,  mamma,  will  be  wrapped  in  remorseful  recollections  of 
having  enacted  a  mob  last  evening  and  have  enough  occupation  in 
considering  how  she  shall  repair  damages." 

"  Fleda,  my  dear,  she  is  very  saucy,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  sipping 
her  tea  with  great  comfort. 

"Why  should  we  yawn  to-night  any  more  than  last  night?" 
said  Fleda  ;  a  question  which  Edith  would  certainly  have  asked 
if  she  had  not  been  away  at  school.  The  breakfast  was  too  late 
."or  both  her  and  her  father. 

"  Last  night,  my  dear,  your  fractious  disposition  kept  us  upon 
half  breath  ;  there  wasn't  time  to  yawn.  I  meant  to  have  eased 
my  breast  by  laughing  afterward,  but  that  expectation  was  stifled." 

'"What  stifled  it?"' 

"I  was  afraid! —  '  said  Constance  with  a  little  flutter  of  her 
person  up  and  down  in  her  chair. 

"  Afraid  of  what?  " 

"  And  besides  you  know  we  can't  have  our  drawing-rooms  filled 
with  distinguished  foreigners  every  evening  we  are  not  a4-home.  I 
shall  direct  the  following-piece  to  be  severe  in  his  execution  of 
orders  to-night  and  let  nobody  in.  I  forgot !  " — exclaimed  Constance 
with  another  flutter, — "it  is  Mr.  Thorn's  night!— My  dearest 
mamma,  will  you  consent  to  have  the  dormeuse  wheeled  round 
with  its  back  to  the  fire  ? — and  Florence  and  I  will  take  the  op- 


»30  QUEECHY. 

portunity  to  hear  little  Edith's  lessons  in  the  next  room — unless 
Mr.  Decatur  comes.  I  must  endeavor  to  make  the  Manton  com 
prehend  what  he  has  to  do." 

"  But  what  is  to  become  of  Mr.  Evelyn?"  said  Fleda  ;  "you 
make  Mrs.  Evelyn  the  head  of  the  family  very  unceremoniously." 

"  Mr.  Evelyn,  my  dear,"  said  Constance  gravely, — "  makes  a 
futile  attempt  semi-weekly  to  beat  his  brains  out  with  a  club  ; 
and  every  successive  failure  encourages  him  to  try  again ;  the 
only  effect  being  a  temporary  decapitation  of  his  family  ;  and  I 
believe  this  is  the  night  on  which  he  periodically  turns  a  frigid 
eye  upon  their  destitution." 

"  You  are  too  absurd  !  "  said  Florence,  reaching  over  for  a  sau< 
sage. 

"Dear  Constance!"  said  Fleda,  half  laughing,  "why  do  you 
talk  so?  " 

"  Constance,  behave  yourself,"  said  her  mother. 

"  Mamma!  "  said  the  young  lady, — "  I  am  actuated  by  a  be 
nevolent  desire  to  effect  a  diversion  of  Miss  Ringgan's  mind  from 
its  gloomy  meditations,  by  presenting  to  her  some  more  real  sub 
jects  of  distress." 

"  1  wonder  if  you  ever  looked  at  such  a  thing,"  said  Fleda. 

•"  What  '  such  a  thing?'  ' 

"  As  a  real  subject  of  distress." 

"  Yes — I  have  one  incessantly  before  me  in  your  serious  coun 
tenance.  Why  in  the  world,  Fleda,  don't  you  look  like  other  peo 
ple  ?" 

"  I  suppose,  because  I  don't  feel  like  them." 

"And  why  don't  you  ?  I  am  sure  you  ought  to  be  as  happy  as 
most  people." 

"  I  think  I  am  a  great  deal  happier,"  said  Fleda. 

"Than  I  am?"  said  the  young  lady,  with  arched  eyebrows. 
But  they  went  down  and  her  look  softened  in  spite  of  herself  at  the 
eye  and  smile  which  answered  her. 

"  I  should  be  very  glad,  dear  Constance,  to  know  you  were  as 
happy  as  I." 

"  Why  do  you  think  I  am  not?"  said  the  young  lady  a  little 
tartly. 

"  Because  no  happiness  would  satisfy  me  that  cannot  last." 

"  And  why  can't  it  last  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  built  upon  lasting  things." 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  Constance,  "  I  wouldn't  have  such  a  dismal  kind 
of  happiness  as  yours,  Fleda,  for  any  tiling." 

"  Dismal !  "  said  Fleda  smiling, — "  Because  it  can  never  disap- 
point  me  ? — or  because  it  isn't  noisy?  " 

"  My  dear  little  Fleda!"  said  Constance  in  her  usual  manner, 
— "  you  have  lived  up  there  among  the  solitudes  till  you  have  gor 
morbid  ideas  of  life — which  it  makes  me  melancholy  to  observe.  I 
am  very  much  afraid  they  verge  toward  stagnation." 

"  No  indeed!"  said  Fleda  laughing  ;  "but,  if  you  please,  with 
me  the  stream  of  life  has  flowed  so  quietly  that  I  have  looked 
quite  to  the  bottom,  and  know  how  shallow  it  is,  and  growing  shal 
lower  ;— I  could  not  venture  my  bark  of  happiness  there  ;  but  with 


QUEECHY.  331 

you  it  is  like  a  spring  torrent, — the  foam  and  the  roar  Hnder  youi 
looking  deep  into  it." 

Constance  gave  her  a  significant  glance,  a  strong  contrast  to  the 
earnest  simplicity  of  Fleda's  face,  and  presently  inquirerl  ;f  she  ever 
wrote  poetry. 

"  Shall  I  have  the  pleasure  some  day  of  discovering  your  uncom 
mon  signature  in  the  secular  corner  of  some  religious  newspaper?" 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Fleda  quietly. 

Joe  Manton  just  then  brought  in  a  bouquet  for  Miss  Evelyn,  ? 
very  common  enlivener  of  the  breakfast-table,  all  the  more  when 
as  in  the  present  case,  the  sisters  could  not  divine  where  it  came. 
from.  It  moved  Fleda's  wonder  to  see  how  very  little  the  flowers 
were  valued  for  their  own  sake  ;  the  probable  cost,  the  probable 
giver,  the  probable  eclat,  were  points  enthusiastically  discussed  and 
thoroughly  appreciated  ;  but  the  sweet  messengers  themselves  were 
carelessly  set  by  for  other  eyes  and  seemed  to  have  no  attraction  for 
those  they  were  destined  to.  Fleda  enjoyed  them  at  a  distance  and 
could  not  help  thinking  that  "  Heaven  sends  almonds  to  those  that 
have  no  teeth." 

"  This  Camellia  will  just  do  for  my  hair  to-morrow  night !  "  said 
Florence  ; — "just  what  I  want  with  my  white  muslin." 

"  I  think  I  will  go  with  you  to-morrow,  Florence,"  said  Fleda  ;• — 
"  Mrs.  Decatur  has  asked  me  so  often." 

"  Well  my  dear,  I  shall  be  made  happy  by  your  company,"  said 
Florence  abstractedly,  examining  her  bouquet,. — "  I  am  afraid  it 
hasn't  stem  enough,  Constance  ! — never  mind — I'll  fix  it — where  is 
the  end  of  this  myrtle? — I  shall  be  very  glad,  of  course,  Fleda  my 
dear,  but — "  picking  her  bouquet  to  pieces, — "I  think  it  right  to 
tell  you,  privately,  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  it  very  stupid — " 

"  O  I  dare  say  she  will  not,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn, — "  she  can  go  and 
try  at  any  rate — she  would  find  it  very  stupid  with  me  here  alone 
and  Constance  at  the  concert — I  dare  say  she  will  find  some  one 
there  whom  she  knows." 

"  But  the  thing  is,  mamma,  you  see,  at  these  conversaziones  they 
never  talk  anything  but  French  and  German — I  don't  know — of 
course  I  should  be  delighted  to  have  Fleda  with  me,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  Mrs.  Decatur  would  be  very  glad  to  have  her — but  I  an> 
afraid  she  won't  enjoy  herself." 

"  I  do  not  want  to  go  where  I  shall  not  enjoy  myself,"  said  Fledc 
quietly  ; — "that  is  certain." 

"  Of  course,  you  know,  dear,  I  would  a  great  deal  rather  have 
you  than  not — I  only  speak  for  what  I  think  would  be  for  your 
pleasure.  ' 

"  I  would  do  just  as  I  felt  inclined,  Fleda,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"  I  shall  let  her  encounter  the  dullness  alone,  ma'am,"  said  Fleda 
lightly. 

But  it  was  not  in  a  light  mood  that  she  put  on  her  bonnet  after 
dinner  and  set  out  to  pay  a  visit  to  her  uncle  at  the  library  ;  she  had 
resolved  that  she  would  not  be  near  the  dormeuse  in  whatnot"  t  r 
relati-vc  position  that  evening.  Very,  very  quiet  she  was  ;  her  j;r;  e 
little  lace  walked  through  the  crowd  of  busy,  bustling,  anxicii.- 
ple,  as  if  she  had  nothing  in  common  with  them  ;  and  Fleua  it-it 
that  she  had  very  little.  Half  unconsciously  as  she  pissed  along 


«S2  QUEECfTY. 

khe  streets  her  eye  scanned  the  countenances  of  that  IT»O  /ng  pano 
rama  ;  and  the  report  it  brought  back  made  her  draw  closer  within 
aei  self. 

She  wondered  that  her  feet  had  ever  tripped  lightly  up  those 
library  stairs. 

"  Ha !  my  fair  Saxon,"  said  the  doctor  ; — "  what  has  brought  you 
down  here  to-day  ! 

"  I  felt  in  want  of  something  fresh,  uncle  Orrin,  so  I  thought  I 
would  come  and  see  you." 

"Fresh!  "  said  he.  "Ah  you  are  pining  for  green  fields,  I 
know.  But  you  little  piece  of  simplicity,  there  are  no  green  fields 
now  at  Queechy — they  are  two  feet  deep  with  snow  by  this  time.' 

"  Well  I  am  sure  that  is  fresh,"  said  Fleda  smiling. 

The  doctor  was  turning  over  great  volumes  one  after  another  in  a 
delightful  confusion  of  business. 

"  When  do  you  think  you  shall  go  north,  uncle  Orrin  ?  " 

"North?"  said  he — "what  do  you  want  to  know  about  the 
North?" 

"  You  said,  you  know,  sir,  that  you  would  go  a  little  out  of  yout 
way  to  leave  me  at  home." 

"  I  won't  go  out  of  my  way  for  anybody.  If  I  leave  you  there 
it  will  be  in  my  way.  Why  you  are  not  getting  homesick?  " 

"  No  sir,  not  exactly, — but  I  think  I  will  go  with  you  when  you 

g°-" 

"That  won't  be  yet  awhile — I  thought  those  people  wanted  you 
to  stay  till  January." 

"  Ay,  but  suppose  I  want  to  do  something  else?  " 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  comical  kind  of  indecision,  and  said, 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  want ! — I  thought  when  you  came  in 
you  needn't  go  further  than  the  glass  to  see  something  fresh  ;  but  1 
believe  the  sea-breezes  haven't  had  enough  of  you  yet.  Which  part 
of  you  wants  freshening?  "  he  said  in  his  mock-fierce  way. 

Fleda  laughed  and  said  she  didn't  know. 

"  Out  of  humor,  I  guess,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I'll  talk  to  you!  — 
Take  this  and  amuse  yourself  awhile,  with  something  that  isn't  fresh, 
till  I  get  through,  and  then  you  shall  go  home  with  me." 

Fleda  carried  the  large  volume  into  one  of  the  reading  rocnns, 
where  there  was  nobody,  and  sat  down  at  the  baize-covered  table. 
But  the  book  was  not  of  the  right  kind — or  her  mood  was  not — for 
.t  failed  to  interest  her.  She  sat  nonchalantly  turning  overti.^ 
leaves  ;  but  mentally  she  was  busy  turning  over  other  leaves  \\hiei. 
had  by  far  most  of  her  attention.  The  Dages  that  memory  read — 
the  record  of  the  old  times  passed  in  that  very  room,  and  the  on; 
childish  light-hearted  feelings  that  were,  she  thought,  as  much 
beyond  recall.  Those'  pleasant  times,  when  the  world  was  ail 
bright  and  friends  all  fair,  and'the  light  heart  had  never  been  borne 
down  by  the  pressure  of  care,  nor  sobered  by  disappointment,  nor 
chilled  by  experience.-.  The  spirit  will  not  spring  elastic  again  from 
under  that  weight  ;  and  t!  °,  .;-  that  has  closed  upon  its  own 
sweetness  will  i  •  i  open  A  second  time  to  the  world's  breath, 
thoughtfully,  sf.t'lv,  she  w*1*  &mchr  g  and  feelipg  of  the  bands  that 
years  had  faster,  i  about  n  r  he--  -they  would  not  be  undone,- 
Ihough  so  cuieily  and  aim  _„,  **«*.  '.ly  they  had  been  bound  there* 


She  was  renumbering  the  shadows  that  one  after  another  had  been 
cast  upon  her  life,  till  now  one  soft  veil  of  a  cloud  covered  the 
whole  ;  no  storm-cloud  certainly,  but  also  there  was  nothing  left  of 
the  glad  sunlight  that  her  young  eyes  rejoiced  in.  At  Queechy  the 
first  shadow  had  fallen  ;— it  was  a  good  while  before  the  next  one, 
but  then  they  came  thick.  There  was  the  loss  of  some  old  com 
forts  and  advantages, — that  could  have  been  borne  ;— then,  con- 
sequent  upon  that,  the  annoyances  and  difficulties  that  had  wrought 
such  a  change  in  her  uncle,  till  Fleda  could  hardly  look  back  and 
believe  that  he  was  the  same  person.  Once  manly,  frank,  busy 
happy  and  making  his  family  so, — now  reserved,  gloomy,  irritable, 
unfaithful  to  his  duty  and  selfishly  throwing  down  the  burden  they 
rruist  take  up,  but  were  far  less  able  to  bear.  And  so  Hugh  was 
changed  too  ;  not  in  loveliness  of  character  and  demeanor,  nor  even 
much  in  the  always  gentle  and  tender  expression  of  countenance  ; 
but  the  animal  spirits  and  frame,  that  should  have  had  all  the 
strong  cherishing  and  bracing  that  affection  and  wisdom  together 
could  have  applied,  had  been  left  to  wear  themselves  out  under 
trials  his  father  had  shrunk  from  and  other  trials  his  father  had 
made.  And  Mrs.  Rossitur, — it  was  hard  for  Fleda  to  remember  the 
face  she  wore  at  Paris, — the  bright  eye  and  joyous  corners  of  the 
mouth,  that  now  were  so  utterly  changed.  All  by  his  fault— that 
made  it  so  hard  to  bear.  Fleda  had  thought  all  this  a  hundred 
times  ;  she  went  over  it  now  as  one  looks  at  a  thing  one  is  well  ac 
customed  to  ;  not  with  new  sorrow,  only  in  a  subdued  mood  of 
mind  just  fit  to  make  the  most  of  it.  The  familiar  place  took  her 
back  to  the  time  when  it  became  familiar  ;  she  compared  herself 
sitting  there  and  feeling  the  whole  world  a  blank,  except  for  the  two 
or  three  at  home,  with  the  child  who  had  sat  there  years  before  in 
that  happy  time  "  when  the  feelings  were  young  and  the  world  was 
new." 

Then  the  Evelyns— why  should  they  trouble  one  so  inoffensive 
and  so  easily  troubled  as  her  poor  little  self?  They  did  not  know 
all  they  were  doing, — but  if  they  had  eyes  they  must  see  a  little  of 
it.  Why  could  she  not  have  been  allowed  to  keep  her  old  free 
simple  feeling  with  everybody,  instead  of  being  hampered  and  con 
strained  and  miserable  from  this  pertinacious  putting  of  thoughts  in 
.ier  head  that  ought  not  to  be  there  ?  It  had  made  her  unlike  her- 
ielf,  she  knew,  in  the  company  of  several  people.  And.  perhaps 
they  might  be  sharp-sighted  enough  to  read  it ! — but  even  if  not, 
how  it  had  hindered  her  enjoyment.  She  had  taken  so  much 
pleasure  in  the  Evelyns  last  year,  and  in  her  visit, — well,  she 
would  go  home  and  forget  it,  and  maybe  they  would  come  to  their 
right  minds  by  the  next  time  she  saw  them. 

"  What  pleasant  times  we  used  to  have  here  once,  uncle  Orrin  !  " 
she  said  with  half  a  sigh,  the  other  half  quite  .nade  up  by  the  tone 
in  which  she  spoke.  But  it  was  not,  as  she  thought,  uncle  Orrin 
that  was  standing  by  her  side,  and  looking  up  as  she  finished 
speaking  Fleda  saw  with  a  start  that  it  was  Mr.  Carleton.  There 
was  such  a  degree  of  life  and  pleasantness  in  his  eyes  that,  in  spite 
of  the  start,  her  own  quite  brightened. 

"That  is  a  pleasure  one  may  always  command,"  he  saift.  *»" 
ftwering  pan  of  her  speech. 


«4  QUEECHY. 

"Ay,  provided  one  has  one's  mind  always  under  command," 
said  Fleda,  "It  is  possible  to  sit  down  to  a  feast  with  a  want  ol 
appetite." 

"  In  such  a  case,  what  is  the  best  tonic  ?  " 

His  manner,  even  in  those  two  minutes,  had  put  Fleda  perfectly 
at  her  ease,  ill-bred  eyes  and  ears  being  absent.  She  looked  up 
and  answered,  with  such  entire  trust  in  him  as  made  her  forget  that 
she  had  ever  had  any  cause  to  distrust  herself. 

"  For  me,"  she  said, — "  as  a  general  rule,  nothing  is  better  thar 
to  go  out  of  doors — into  the  woods  or  the  garden — they  are  the  bes< 
fresheners  I  know  of.  I  can  do  myself  good  there  at  times  whea 
books  are  a  nuisance." 

"  You  are  not  changed  from  your  old  self,"  he  said.  » 

The  wish  was  strong  upon  Fleda  to  know  whether  he  was,  but  i 
was  not  till  she  saw  the  answer  in  his  face  that  she  knew  how  plainly 
hers  had  asked  the  question.  And  then  she  was  so  confused  that 
she  did  not  know  what  the  answer  had  been. 

"  I  find  it  so  too,"  he  said.  "The  influences  of  pure  nature  are 
the  best  thing  I  know  for  some  moods — after  the  company  of  a  good 
horse." 

"  And  you  on  his  back,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  That  was  my  meaning.  What  is  the  doubt  thereupon?"  said 
he  laughing. 

"  Did  I  express  any  doubt?  " 

"  Or  my  eyes  were  mistaken." 

"  I  remember  they  never  used  to  be  that,"  said  Fleda. 

"  What  was  it?" 

"Why,"  said  Fleda,  thinking  that  Mr.  Carleton  had  probably 
retained  more  than  one  of  his  old  habits,  for  she  was  answering 
with  her  old  obedience, — "  I  was  doubting  what  the  influence  is 
in  that  case — worth  analyzing,  I  think.  I  am  afraid  the  good 
horse's  company  has  little  to  do  with  it." 

"  What  then,  do  you  suppose?  "  said  he  smiling. 

"  Why,"  said  Fleda, — "  it  might  be — but  I  beg  your  pardon, 
Mr.  Carleton  !  I  am  astonished  at  my  own  presumption." 

"  Go  on,  and  let  me  know  why?"  he  said,  with  that  happiness 
of  manner  which  was  never  resisted.  Fleda  went  on,  reassuring 
her  courage  now  and  then  with  a  glance. 

•  "  The  relief  might  spring,  sir,  from  the  gratification  of  a  proud 
feeling  of  independence, — or  from  a  dignified  sense  of  isolation, — or 
an  imaginary  riding  down  of  opposition, — or  the  consciousness  of 
being  master  of  what  you  have  in  hand." 

She  would  have  added  to  the  general  category,  "  the  running 
away  from  oneself;"  but  the  eye  and  bearing  of  the  person  before 
her  forbade  even  such  a  thought  as  connected  with  him.  He 
laughed,  but  shook  his  head. 

"  Perhaps  then,"  said  Fleda,  "  it  may  be  nothing  worse  than  the 
working  off  of  a  surplus  of  energy  or  impatience,  that  leaves  be 
hind  no  more  than  can  be  managed." 

"You  have  learned  something  of  human  nature  since  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  knowing  you,"  he  said  with  a  look  at  once  amused  and 
penetrating. 

"  I  wish  I  imdn  t,    said  Fleda. 


QUEECHY.  335 

Her  counter!*,..  ..  *osolutely  fell. 

"I  sometimes  think,"  said  he  turning  over  the  leaves  of  het 
book,  "  that  these  are  the  best  companionship  one  can  have — the 
world  at  large  is  very  unsatisfactory." 

"O  how  much!"  said  Fleda  with  a  long  breath.  "The  only 
pleasant  thing  that  my  eyes  rested  upon  as  I  came  through  the 
streets  this  afternoon,  was  a  huge  bunch  of  violets  that  somebody 
-.vas  carrying.  1  walked  behind  them  as  long  as  1  could." 

"  Is  your  old  love  for  Queechy  in  full  force?"  said  Mr.  Carletont 
itill  turning  over  the  leaves,  and  smiling. 

"  I  believe  so — I  should  be  very  sorry  to  live  here  long — at  home 
1  can  always  go  out  and  find  society  that  refreshes  me." 

"You  have  set  yourself  a  high  standard,"  he  said,  with  no  dis 
pleased  expression  of  the  lips. 

"I  have  been  charged  with  that,"  said  Fleda  ; — "  but  is  it  pos 
sible  to  set  too  high  a  standard,  Mr.  Carleton  ?  " 

"  One  may  leave  oneself  almost  alone  in  the  world." 

"  Well,  even  then,"  said  Fleda,  "  I  would  rather  have  only  the 
image  of  excellence  than  be  contented  with  inferiority." 

"  Isn't  it  possible  to  do  both?  "  said  he,  smiling  again. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Fleda, — "perhaps  I  am  too  easily  dissatis 
fied — I  believe  I  have  grown  fastidious  living  alone — I  have  some 
times  almost  a  disgust  at  the  world  and  everything  in  it." 

'•  I  have  often  felt  so,"  he  said  ; — "  but  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  a 
mood  to  be  indulged  in — likely  to  further  our  own  good  or  that  of 
others." 

"I  am  sure  it  is  not,"  said  Fleda; — "I  often  feel  vexed  with 
myself  for  it  ;  but  what  can  one  do,  Mr.  Carleton?" 

"  Don't  your  friends  the  flowers  help  you  in  this?" 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  Fleda,— "  they  draw  the  other  way;  their 
society  is  so  very  pure  and  satisfying  that  one  is  all  the  less  inclined 
to  take  up  with  the  other." 

She  could  not  quite  tell  what  to  make  of  the  smile  with  which  he 
began  to  speak  ;  it  half  abashed  her. 

"  When  I  spoke  a  little  while  ago,"  said  he,  "of  the  best  cure 
for  an  ill  mood,  I  was  speaking  of  secondary  means  simply — the 
Dnly  really  humanizing,  rectifying,  peace-giving  thing  I  ever  tried 
was  looking  at  time  in  the  light  of  eternity,  and  shaming  or  melting 
Tiny  coldness  away  in  the  ways  of  the  Sun  of  righteousness." 

Fleda's  eyes,  which  had  fallen  on  her  book,  were  raised  a^ain 
-vith  such  a  flash  of  feeling  that  it  quite  prevented  her  seeing  what 
was  in  his.  But  the  feeling  was  a  little  too  strong — the  eyes  went 
down,  lower  than  ever,  and  the  features  showed  that  the  utmost 
efforts  of  self-command  were  needed  to  control  them. 

"There  is  no  other  cure,"  he  went  on  in  the  same  tone  ; — "  bu': 
disgust  and  weariness  and  selfishness  shrink  away  and  hide  them 
selves  before  a  word  or  a  look  of  ihe  Redeemer  of  men.  When 
we  hear  him  say,  '  I  have  bought  thee— thou  art  mine,'  it  is  like 
one  of  those  old  words  of  healing,  '  Thou  art  loosed  from  thine  in 
firmity,' — '  Be  thou  clean,' — and  the  mind  takes  sweetly  the  grace 
and  the  command  together,  '  That  he  who  loveth  God  love  his 
brother  also.' — Only  the  preparation  of  the  gospel  of  peace  can 
make  our  feet  go  softly  over  the  roughnesses  of  the  way." 


330 

Fleda  did  not  move,  unless  her  twinkling  ^yeLvihes  might  seeffl 
to- .contradict  that. 

"I    need    not   tell    you,"    Mr.    Caiieton  went  on   a  little  lower, 

where  this  medicine  is  to  be  sought." 

"  It  is  strange,"  said  Fleda  presently,  "  how  well  o-ne  may  know 
and  how  well  one  may  forget. — But  I  think  the  body  has  a  great 
deal  to  do  with  it  sometimes — these  states  of  feeling,  I  mean." 

"  No  doubt  it  has  ;  and  in  these  cases  the  cure  is  a  more  compli 
cated  matter.  1  should  think  the  roses  would  be  useful  there?  " 

Fleda's  mind  war  crossed  by  an  indistinct  vision  of  peas,  aspar 
agus,  and  sweet  corn  ;  she  said  nothing, 

"  An  indirect  remedy  is  sometimes  the  very  best  that  can  be  em 
ployed.     However    it   is    always   tr»ie   that  the  more  our  eyes  ar  ? 
fixed  upon  the  source  of  light  the  less  we  notice  the  shadows  that 
things  we  are  passing  fling  across  our  way." 

Fleda  did  not  know  how  to  talk  for  a  little  while  ;  she  was  too 
happy.  Whatever  kept  Mr,  Carleton  from  talking,  he  was  silent 
also.  Perhaps  it  was  the  understanding  of  her  mood. 

"Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Fleda  after  a  little  time,  "  did  you  ever 
carry  out  that  plan  of  a  rose-garden  that  you  were  talking  of  a 
long  while  ago?" 

"  You  remember  it?  "  said  he  with  a  pleasec  look. — "  Yes — that 
was  one  of  the  first  things  I  set  about  after  I  went,  home — but  I  did 
not  follow  the  regular  fashion  of  arrangement  that  one  of  your 
friends  is  so  fond  of." 

"  I  should  not  like  that  for  anything,"  said  Fleda, — "  and  least 
of  all  for  roses." 

"  Do  you  remember  the  little  shrubbery  path  that  opened  just  in 
front  of  the  library  windows?— leading  at  the  distance  of  half  a 
mile  to  a  long  narrow  winding  glen  ?  " 

"Perfectly  well!"  said  Fleda, — "through  the  wood  of  ever 
greens — O  I  remember  the  glen  very  well." 

"About  half  way  frqm  tne  house,"  said  he  smiling  at  her  eyes, 
"  a  glade  opens  which  merges  at  last  in  the  head  of  the  glen — I 
planted  my  roses  there — the  circumstances  of  the  ground  were  very 
happy  for  disposing  them  according  to  my  wish." 

" And  how  far?" 

"The  roses? — O  all  the  way,  and  some  distance  down  the  glen 
Not  a  continuous  thicket  of  them,"  he.  added  smiling  again,—  "  i 
wished  each  kind  to  stand  so  that  its  peculiar  beauty  should  b* 
fully  relieved  and  appreciated  ;  and  that  would  have  been  lost  in  a 
crowd." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it,"  said  Fleda  ; — "  one's  eye  rests  upon  the  chief 
objects  of  attraction  and  the.  others  are  hardly  seen, — they  do  not 
even  serve  as  foils.  And  they  must  show-  beautifully  against  that 
dark  background  of  firs  and  larches  ! 

"Yes — and  the  windings  of  .the  ground  gave  me- every  sort  of 
situation  and  exposure.  I  wanted  room  too  for  the  different  effects 
of  masses  of  the  same  kind  growing  together  and  of  fine  indi 
viduals  or  groups  standing  alone  where  they  could  show  the  full 
graceful  development  of  their  nature." 

"  What  a  pleasure  ! — What  a  beauty  it  must  be!  " 

"  The  ground  is  very  hajgpy — xuanv  varieties  of  soil  arid  exposure 


orEKcfrr. 

were  needed  for  the  plants  of  different  habits,  and  I  found  or  made 
ibem   all.     The   rocky   beginnings  of  the,  glen   even  furnished  nie 
with  south  walls  for  the  little  tea-roses,  and  the  Macartneys  and 
Musk  roses, — the  Banksias  I  kept  nearer  home." 
"  Do  you  know  them  all,  Mr.  Carleton?  " 
"  Not  quite,"  said  he  smiling  at  her. 

"  I  have  seen  one  Banksia — the  Macartney  is  a  name  tha-i  tells 
W|e  nothing." 

"They  are  evergreens — with  large  whiie  flowers — very  abundant 
and  late  in  the  season,  but  they  need  the  shelter  of  a  wall  with  us.' 
"I  should   think   you  would  say  'with  me','1  said   Fleda.      " 
cannot  conceive  that  the  head-quarters  of  the  Rose  tribe  should  be 
anywhere  else." 

"  One  of  the  queens  of  the  tribe  is  there,  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  Ma.cartneys — the  difficult  Rosa  sulphurea — it  finds  itself  so  well 
accommodated  that  it  condescends  to  play  its  part  to  perfection.. 
Do  you  know  that  ?  " 
••  Not  at  all." 

"It  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  all,  though  not  my  favorite- 
it  has  large  double  yellow  flowers  shaped  like  the  Provence — very 
superb,  but  as  wilful  as  any  queen  of  them  all." 
"  Which  is  your  favorite,  Mr.  Carleton?  " 

"  Not  that  which  shows  itself  most  splendid  to  the  eye,  but  which 
offers  fairest  indications  to  the  fancy." 

Fleda  looked  a  little  wistfully,  for  there  was  a  smile  rather  of  the 
eye  than  of  the  lips  which  said  there  jwas  a  hidden  thought  beneath. 
"  Don't  you  assign  characters  to  your  flowers?  "  said  he  gravely. 
"  Always  !  " 

"That  Rosa  sulphurea  is  a  haughty  high-bred  beauty  that  dis 
dains  even  to  show  herself  beautiful  unless  she  is  pleased  ; — I  love 
better  what  comes  nearer  home  to  the  charities  and  wants  of  every 
day  life." 

He  had  not  answered  her,  Fleda  knew  ;  she  thought  of  what  he 
had  said. to  Mrs.  Evelyn  about  liking  beauty  but  not  beauties. 

"  Then,"  said  he  smiling  again  in  that  hidden  way,  "  the  head 
of  the  glen  gave  me  the  soil  I  needed  for  the  Bourbons  and  French 
roses." — 

"  Bourbons?" — said  Fleda. 

"  Those  are  exceeding  fine — a  hybrid  between  the  Chinese  and 
v.he  Rose-a-quatre-saisons — I  have  not  confined  them  all  to  the  head 
of  the  glen  ;  many  of  them  are  in  richer  soil,  grafted  on  standards.  f 
"  I  like  standard  roses,"  said  Fleda, — "better  than  any." 
"  Not  better  than  climbers?  " 

"  Better  than  any  climbers  I  ever  saw — except  the  Banksia." 
"  There  is  hardly  a  more  elegant  variety  than  that,  though  it  is 
not  strictly  a  climber  ;  and  indeed  when  I  spoke  I  was  thinking  .as 
much  of  the  training  roses.  Many  of  the  Noisettes  are  very  fine. 
But  I  have  the  climbers  all  over— in  s^orne  parts  nothing  else,  where 
the  wood  closes  in  upon  the  path — there  the  evergreen  roses  or  the 
Ayrshire  cover  the  ground  under  the  trees,  or  are  trained  up  the 
trunks  and  allowed  to  find  their  own  way  through  the  branches 
down  again — the  Multiflora  in  the  same  manner.  I  have  made  the 
Boursault  cover  some  unsightly  rocks  that  were  in  my  way. — Then 


tti  wider  parts  of  the  glade  nearer  home  are  your  favorite  standards 
— the  Damask,  and  Provence,  and  Moss,  which  vou  know  arc 
varieties  of  the  Centifolia,  and  the  Noisette  standards,  some  of  them 
are  very  fine,  and  the  Chinese  roses,  and  countless  hybrids  and 
varieties  of  all  these,  with  many  Bourbons; — and  your  beautiful 
American  yellow  rose,  and  the  Austrian  briar  and  Eglantine,  and 
the  Scotch  and  white  and  Dog  roses  in  their  innumerable  varieties 
change  admirably  well  with  the  others,  and  relieve  the  eye  very 
happily." 

"  Relieve  the  eye  !  "  said  Fleda, — "  my  imagination  wants  reliev 
ing  !  Isn't  there — I  have  a  fancy  that  there  is — a  view  of  the  sea 
2rom  some  parts  of  that  walk,  Mr.  Carleton  ?  " 

11  Yes, —you  have  a  good  memory,"  said  he  smiling.  '  On  one 
side  the  wood  is  rather  dense,  and  in  some  parts  of  the  other  side  ; 
but  elsewhere  the  trees  are  thinned  off  toward  the  south-west,  and 
in  one  or  two  points  the  descent  of  the  ground  and  some  cutting 
have  given  free  access  to  the  air  and  free  range  to  the  eye,  bounded 
only  by  the  sea  line  in  the  distance — if  indeed  that  can  be  said  to 
bound  anything." 

"  I  haven't  seen  it  since  I  was  a  child,"  said  Fleda.  "  And  for 
how  long  a  time  in  the  year  is  this  literally  a  garden  of  roses,  Mr. 
Carleton  ?  " 

"The  perpetual  roses  are  in  bloom  for  eight  months, — the  Dam 
ask  and  the  Chinese,  and  some  of  their  varieties — the  Provence 
roses  are  in  blossom  all  the  summer." 

"  Ah  we  can  do  nothing  like  that  in  this  country,"  said  Fleda 
shaking  her  head  ; — "  our  winters  are  unmanageable." 

She  was  silent  a  minute,  turning  over  the  leaves  of  her  book  in 
an  abstracted  manner. 

"  You  have  struck  out  upon  a  grave  path  of  reflection,"  said  Mre 
Carleton  gently, — "  and  left  me  bewildered  among  the  roses." 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Fleda,  looking  up  and  laughing, — "  I 
was  moralizing  to  myself  upon  the  curious  equalization  of  happi 
ness  in  the  world — I  just  sheered  off  from  a  feeling  of  envy,  and 
comfortably  reflected  that  one  measures  happiness  by  what  one 
knows — not  by  what  one  does  not  know  ;  and  so  that  in  all  proba 
bility  I  have  had  near  as  much  enjoyment  in  the  little  number  of 
plants  that  I  have  brought  up  and  cherished  and  know  intimately,, 
as  you,  sir,  in  your  superb  walk  through  fairyland." 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  said  he  laughing,  that  I  leave  the  whole  care 
of  fairyland  to  my  gardener?  No,  you  are  mistaken — when  the 
roses  are  to  act  as  my  correctors  I  find  I  must  become  theirs.  I 
seldom  go  among  them  without  a  pruning  knife  and  never  without 
wishing  for  one.  And  you  are  certainly  right  so  far, — that  the 
plants  on  which  I  bestow  most  pains  give  me  the  most  pleasure. 
There  are  some  that  no  hand  but  mine  ever  touches,  and  those  are 
by  far  the  best  loved  of  my  eye." 

A  discussion  followed,  partly  natural,  partly  moral,— on  the  man 
ner  of  pruning  various  roses  and  on  the  curious  connection  between 
care  and  complacency,  and  the  philosophy  of  the  same. 

"  The  rules  of  the  library  are  to  shut  up  at  sundown,  sir,"  saio 
one  of  the  bookmen  who  had  come  into  the  room. 


QUEECHY.  339 

••Sundown!  "  exclaimed  Fleda  jumping  up  ; — '*  is  my  uncle  not 
here,  Mr.  Frost?" 

"  He  has  been  gone  half  an  hour,  m'am." 

"  And  I  was  to  have  gone  home  with  him — I  have  forgotten  my 
self." 

"  If  that  is  at  all  the  fault  of  my  roses,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  smil 
ing,  "  I  will  do  my  best  to  repair  it." 

"  I  am  not  disposed  to  call  it  a  fault,"  said  Fleda,  tying  her  bon- 
Aet-strings, — "  it  is  rather  an  agreeable  thing  once  in  a  while.  I 
shall  dream  of  those  roses,  Mr.  Carleton  !  " 

"  That  would  be  doing  them  too  much  honor." 

Very  happily  she  had  forgotten  herself  ;  and  during  all  the  walk 
ftome  her  mind  was  too  full  of  one  great  piece  of  joy  and  indeed 
too  much  engaged  with  conversation  to  take  up  her  own  subject 
again.  Her  only  wish  was  that  they  might  not  meet  any  of  the 
Evelyns  ; — Mr.  Thorn,  whom  they  did  meet,  was  a  matter  of  entire 
indifference. 

The  door  was  opened  by  Dr.  Gregory  himself.  To  Fleda's  utter 
astonishment  Mr.  Carleton  accepted  his  invitation  to  come  in.  She 
went  up-stairs  to  take  off  her  things  in  a  kind  of  maze. 

"  I  thought  he  would  go  away  without  my  seeing  him,  and  now 
what  a  nice  time  I  have  had  ! — in  spite  of  Mrs.  Evelyn — " 

That  thought  slipped  in  without  Fleda's  knowledge,  but  she  could 
not  get  it  out  again. 

"  I  don't  know  how  much  it  has  been  her  fault  either;  but  one 
thing  is  certain — I  never  could  have  had  it  at  her  house. — How  very 
glad  I  am  ! — How  very  glad  I  am  ! — that  I  have  seen  him  and  heard 
all  this  from  his  own  lips. — But  how  very  funny  that  he  will  be  here 
to  tea—" 

"  Well !  "  said  the  doctor  when  she  came  down, — "  you  do  look 
freshened  up,  I  declare.  Here  is  this  girl,  sir,  was  coming  to  me  a 
little  while  ago,  complaining  that  she  wanted  something  fresh,  and 
begging  me  to  take  h.rbackto  Queechy,  forsooth,  to  find  it,  with 
two  feet  of  snow  on  the  ground.  Who  wants  to  see  you  at 
Queechy?  "  he  said,  facing  round  upon  her  with  a  look  half  fierce 
half  quizzical. 

Fleda  laughed,  but  was  vexed  to  feel  that  she  could  not  help 
coloring  and  coloring  exceedingly  ;  partly  from  the  consciousness 
of  his  meaning,  and  partly  from  a  vague  notion  that  somebody  else 
was  conscious  of  it  too.  Dr.  Gregory  however  dashed  right  off  into 
the  thick  of  conversation  with  his  guest,  and  kept  him  busily  en 
gaged  till  tea-time.  Fleda  sat  still  on  the  sofa,  looking  and  listen- 
Sng  with  simple  pleasure  ;  memory  served  her  up  a  rich  entertain 
ment  enough.  Yet  she  thought  her  uncle  was  the  most  heartily 
interested  of  the  two  in  the  conversation  ;  there  was  a  shade  more 
upon  Mr.  Carleton,  not  than  he  often  wore,  but  than  he  had  worn  a 
little  while  ago.  Dr.  Gregory  was  a  great  bibliopole,  and  in  the 
course  of  the  hour  hauled  out  and  made  his  guest  overhaul  no  less 
than  several  musty  old  folios  ;  and  Fleda  could  not  help  fancying 
that  he  did  it  with  an  access  of  gravity  greater  even  than  the  oc 
casion  called  for.  The  grace  of  his  manner  however  was  unaltered  ; 
and  at  tea  she  did  not  know  whether  she  had  been  right  or  not. 
Demurely  as  she  sat  there  behind  the  tea-urn,  for  Dr.  Gregory  still 


340  QUEECHT. 

engrossed  all  the  attention  of  his  guest  as  far  as  talking  was  coiv 
cerned,  Fleda  was  again  inwardly  smiling  to  herself  at  the  oddity 
and  the  pleasantness  of  the  chance  that  had  brought  those  three  to 
gether  in  such  a  quiet  way,  after  all  the  weeks  she  had  been  seeing 
Mr.  Carleton  at  a  distance.  And  she  enjoyed  the  conversation  too  ; 
for  though  Dr.  Gregory  was  a  little  fond  of  his  hobby  it  was  still 
conversation  worthy  the  name. 

"  I  have  been  so  unfortunate  in  the  matter  of  the  drives,"  Mr, 
larleton  said,  when  he  was  about  to  take  leave  and  standing  before 
"leda, — "  that  I  am  half  afraid  to  mention  it  again." 

"  I  could  not  help  it,  both  those  times,  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Fledr, 
earnestly. 

"  Both  the  last? — or  both  the  first  ?  "  said  he  smiling. 

"The  last?—"  said  Fleda.  % 

"  I  have  had  the  honor  of  making  such  an  attempt  twice  within 
<:he  last  ten  days — to  my  disappointment." 

"  It  was  not  by  my  fault  then  either,  sir,"  Fleda  said  quietly. 

But  he  knew  very  well  from  the  expression  of  her  face  a  mo 
ment  before  where  to  put  the  emphasis  her  tongue  would  not 
make. 

"  Dare  I  ask  you  to  go  with  me  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Fleda  with  the  old  childish  sparkle  of  her 
eye, — "but  if  you  ask  me,  sir,  I  will  go." 

He  sat  down  beside  her  immediately,  and  Fleda  knew  by  his 
change  of  eye  that  her  former  thought  had  been  right. 

"  Shall  I  see  you  at  Mrs.  Decatur's  to-morrow?  " 

"  No  sir." 

"  I  thought  I  understood,"  said  he  in  an  explanatory  tone,  "  from 
your  friends  the  Miss  Evelyns,  that  they  were  going." 

"I  believe  they  are,  and  I  did  think  of  it;  but  I  have  changed 
my  mind,  and  shall  stay  at  home  with  Mrs.  Evelyn." 

After  some  further  conversation  the  hour  for  the  drive  was  ap 
pointed,  and  Mr.  Carleton  took  leave. 

"  Come  for  me  twice  and  Mrs.  Evelyn  refused  without  consulting 
me  !  "  thought  Fleda.  "  What  could  make  her  do  so  ? — How  very 
7-ude  he  must  have  thought  me !  And  how  glad  I  am  I  have  had 
an  opportunity  of  setting  that  right." 

So  quitting  Mrs.  Evelyn  her  thoughts  went  off  upon  a  long  train 
)f  wondering  over  the  afternoon's  talk. 

"  Wake  up!  "  said  the  doctor,  laying  his  hand  kindly  upon  her 
.houlder, — "  you'll  want  something  fresh  again  presently.  Wha- 
mine  of  profundity  are  you  digging  into  now?  " 

Fleda  looked  up  and  came  back  from  her  profundity  witli  a  glance 
and  smile  as  simple  as  a  child's. 

"  Dear  uncle  Orrin,  how  came  you  to  leave  me  alone  in  the 
library  ?  " 

"  Was  that  what  you  were  trying  to  discover?  " 

"Oh  no,  sir!  But  why  did  you,  uncle  Orrin?  I  might  have 
been  left  utterly  alone." 

"  Why,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  was  going  out,  and  a  friend  that  1 
thought  I  could  confide  in  promised  to  take  care  of  you." 

"  A  friend  ! — Nobody  came  near  me,"  said  Fleda.  • 

"Then  I'll  never  trust  anybody  ag^in,"  aaid  the  doctor     "  bill 


QUEECHY,  841 

what  were  you  hammering  at,  mentally,  just  now? — coma,  you  shall 
tell  me.1' 

"  O  nothing,  uncle  Orrin,"  said  Fleda,  looking  grave  again  how 
ever  ; — "  I  was  thinking  that  I  had  been  talking  too  much  to-day." 

"  Talking  too  much  ? — why  whom  have  you  been  talking  to?  " 

:'  O,  nobody  but  Mr.  Carleton." 

•"Mr.  Carleton!  why  you  didn't  say  six  and  a  quarter  words 
vhile  he  was  here." 

"  No,  but  I  mean  in  the  library,  and  walking  home." 

!<  Talking  too  much  !  I  guess  you  did,"  said  the  doctor  ;— c  you: 
ongue  is  like 

« the  music  of  the  spheres, 
So  loud  it  deafens  human  ears.' 

How  came  you  to  talk  too  much  ?  I  thought  you  were  too  ?hy  to 
talk  at  all  in  company." 

"  No  sir,  I  am  not  ; — I  am  not  at  all  shy  unless  peoMe  frighten 
me.  It  takes  almost  nothing  to  do  that  ;  but  I  am  very  boic  if  I  am 
not  frightened." 

"  Were  you  frightened  this  afternoon?  " 

"  No  sir." 

"  Well,  if  you  weren't  frightened,  I  guess  nobody  e;*.,  v&  .,  '  sa^ 
the  doctor. 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

Whence  came  this? 

This  is  some  token  from  a  newer  friend. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

THE  snow-flakes  were  falling  softly  and  thick  when  Fleda  got  up 
T^e  next  morning. 

"  No  ride  for  me  to-day — but  how  very  glad  I  am  that  I  had  a 

rhance  of  setting  that  matter  right.     What  could  Mrs.  Evelyn  have 

been  thinking  of? — Very  false  kindness  ! — if  I  had  disliked  to  gc 

ever   so    much   she  ought  to  have  mada  me,   for  my  own   sake, 

rather  than  let  me  seem  so  rude — it  is  true  she  didn't  know  how 

•ude.     O  snow-flakes — how  much  purer  and  prettier  you  are  thai? 

nost  things  in  this  place  !  " 

No  one  was  in  the  breakfast  parlor  when  Fleda  came  down,  sc 
took  her  book  and  the  dormeuse  and  had  an  hour  of  luxurious 
quiet  before  anybody  appeared.  Not  a  foot-fall  in  the  house  ;  no* 
sven  one  outside  to  be  heard,  for  the  soft  carpeting  of  snow  which 
was  laid  over  the  streets.  The  gentle  breathing  of  the  fire  the  only 
sound  in  the  room  ;  while  the  very  light  came  subdued  through  the 
falling  snow  and  the  thin  muslin  curtains,  and  gave  an  air  of  softer 
luxury  to  the  apartment.  "  Money  is  pleasant,"  thought  Fleda,  as 
she  took  a  little  complacent  review  of  all  this  before  opening  her 
book. — "  And  yet  how  unspeakably  happier  one  may  be  without  it 
than  another  with  it.  Happiness  never  was  locked  up  in  a  purs* 
yet.  I  am  sure  Hugh  and  I, — They  must  want  me  at  home  !  — 

There  was  a  little  sober  consideration  of  the  lumps  of  coal  and 
the  contented-looking  blaze  in  the  grate,  a  most  essentially  home 
like  thing,—  »nd  then  Fleda  went  to  her  book  and  fur  the  space  Ot 


342  QUEECHY. 

an  hour  turned  over  her  pages  without  interruption.  At  the  end  of 
the  hour  "the  fowling-piece,"  certainly  the  noiseliest  of  his  kind, 
put  his  head  in,  but  seeing  none  of  his  ladies  took  it  and  himseli7 
away  again  and  left  Fleda  in  peace  for  another  half-hour.  Then 
appeared  Mrs.  Evelyn  in  her  morning  wrapper,  and  only  stopping 
at  the  bell-handle,  came  up  to  the  dormeuse  and  stooping  down 
kissed  Fleda's  forehead,  with  so  much  tenderness  that  it  won  a  look 
of  most  affectionate  gratitude  in  reply. 

'•'  Fleda  my  dear,  we  set  you  a  sad  example.     But  you  won't  cop 
it.     Joe,  breakfast.     Has  Mr.  Evelyn  gone  down  town  ?  " 

"  Yes  ma'am,  two  hours  ago." 

"  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,  Fleda  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn 
breaking  the  lumps  of  coal  with  the  poker  in  a  very  leisurely  satis 
fied  kind  of  way, — "  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  to  rejoice  that  you 
were  not  born  a  business  man  ?     What  a  life  ! — " 

"  I  wonder  how  it  compares  with  that  of  a  business  woman," 
said  Fleda  laughing.  "There  is  an  uncompromising  old  proverb 
which  says 

<  Man's  work  is  from  sun  to  sun — 
But  a  woman's  work  is  never  done.'  " 

A  saying  which  she  instantly  reflected  was  entirely  beyond  the 
comprehension  of  the  person  to  whose  consideration  she  had  offered 
it. 

And  then  came  in  Florence,  rubbing  her  hands  and  knitting  her 
eyebrows. 

"  Why  you  don't  look  as  bright  as  the  rest  of  the  world,  this 
morning,"  said  Fleda. 

"  What  a  wretched  storm  !  " 

"  Wretched  !  This  beautiful  snow  !  Here  have  I  been  enjoying 
it  for  this  hour." 

But  Florence  rubbed  her  hands  and  looked  as  if  Fleda  were  no 
rule  for  other  people. 

"  How  horrid  it  will  make  the  going  out  to-night,  if  it  snows  all 
day  !  " 

"  Then  you  can  stay  at  home,"  said  her  mother  composedly. 

"  Indeed  I  shall  not,  mamma!  " 

"  Mamma  !  "  said  Constance,  now  coming  in  with  Edith, — "  is-r,  t 
breakfast  ready  ?     It  strikes  me  that  the  fowling-piece  wants  polish 
ing  up.     I  have  an  indistinct  impression  that  the  sun  would  be  upon 
the  meridian  if  he  was  anywhere." 

"  Not  quite  so  bad  as  that,"  said  Fleda  smiling  ; — "  it  is  only  an 
hour  and  a  half  since  I  came  down  stairs." 

"  You  horrid  little  creature  ! — Mamma,  I  consider  it  an  act  of 
inhospitality  to  permit  studious  habits  on  the  part  of  your  guests. 
And  I  am  surprised  your  ordinary  sagacity  has  not  discovered  that 
it  is  the  greatest  impolicy  toward  the  objects  of  your  maternal  care. 
We  are  laboring  under  growing  disadvantages  ;  for  when  we  have 
brought  the  enemy  to  at  long  shot  there  is  a  mean  little  craft  that 
comes  in  and  unmans  him  in  a  close  fight  before  we  can  gel  out 
speaking-trumpets  up." 

"  Constance !  —Do  hush !  '  said  her  sister.  "  You  are  too  absurd.' 

11  Fact,"  said  Constance  gravely.    "Capt.  i-cwiston  was  telling 


QVEECHY.  343 

me  the  other  night  how  the  thing  is  managed  ;  and  I  recognized  it 
immediately  and  told  him  I  had  often  seen  it  done  !  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Constance,"  said  her  mother  smiling, — "  and 
come  to  breakfast." 

Half  and  but  half  of  the  mandate  the  young  lady  had  any  idea 
of  obeying. 

"  I  can't  imagine  what  you  are  talking  about,  Constance  !  "  said 
Edith. 

"And  then  being  a  friend,  you  see,"  pursued  Constance,  'we 
can  do  nothing  but  fire  a  salute,  instead  of  demolishing  her." 

"  Can't  you  ?"  said  Fleda.  "  I  am  sure  many  a  time  I  have  fell 
as  if  you  had  left  me  nothing  but  my  colors." 

"  Except  your  prizes,  my  dear.  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  about 
your  being  a  friend  either,  for  I  have  observed  that  you  engage 
English  and  American  alike." 

"She  is  getting  up  her  colors  now,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  in  mock 
gravity, — "  you  can  tell  what  she  is." 

"  Blood-red  !  "  said  Constance.  "  A  pirate  ! — I  thought  so,"  — 
she  exclaimed,  with  an  ecstatic  gesture.  "  I  shall  make  it  my  busi 
ness  to  warn  everybody  !  " 

"Oh  Constance!  "  said  Fleda,  burying  her  face  in  her  hands. 
But  they  all  laughed. 

"  Fleda  my  dear,  I  would  box  her  ears,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  com 
manding  herself.  "It  is  a  mere  envious  insinuation, — I  have 
always  understood  those  were  the  most  successful  colors  carried." 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Evelyn  ! — " 

"  My  dear  Fleda,  that  is  not  a  hot  roll — you  shan't  eat  it — Take 
this.  Florence  give  her  a  piece  of  the  bacon — Fleda  my  dear,  it  is 
good  for  the  digestion — you  must  try  it.  Constance  was  quite  mis 
taken  in  supposing  yours  were  those  obnoxious  colors — there  is  too 
much  white  with  the  red — it  is  more  like  a  very  different  flag." 

"  Like  what  then,  mamma  ?  "  said  Constance  ; — "  a  good  Ameri 
can  would  have  blue  in  it." 

"  You  may  keep  the  American  yourself,"  said  her  mother. 

"Only,"  said  Fleda  trying  to  recover  herself,  "  there  is  a  slight 
irregularity — with  you  the  stars  are  blue  and  the  ground  white." 

"  My  dear  little  Fleda  !  "  exclaimed  Constance  jumping  up  and 
:apering  around  the  table  to  kiss  her,  "  you  are.  too  delicious  for 
anything  ;  and  in  future  I  will  be  blind  to  your  colors  ;  which  is  2 
;iece  of  self-denial  1  am  sure  nobody  else  will  practice." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Edith,  "  what  are  you  all  talking  about?  Can"i 
Constance  sit  down  and  let  Fleda  eat  her  breakfast  ?  " 

"  Sit  down,  Constance,  and  eat  your  breakfast !  " 

"  I  will  do  it,  mamma,  out  of  consideration  for  the  bacon. — Noth 
ing  else  would  move  me." 

"  Are  you  going  to  Mrs.  Decatur's  to-night,  Fleda  ?" 

"  No,  Edith,  I  believe  not." 

"  I'm  very  glad  ;  then  there'll  be  somebody  at  home.  But  why 
don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  think  on  the  whole  I  had  rather  not." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Constance,  "  you  have  done  very  wrong  in  per 
mitting  such  a  thing.  I  know  just  how  it  will  be.  Mr.  Thorn  and 
Mr.  Stackpole  will  make  indefinite  voyages  of  discovery  round 


844  QUKECHY. 

Mrs.  Decatur's  rooms,  and  them  having  a  glimmering  perceptioa 
that  the  light  of  Miss  Ringgan's  eyes  is  in  another  direction  they 
will  sheer  off;  and  you  will  presently  see  them  come  sailing  blandly 
in,  one  after  the  other,  and  cast  anchor  for  the  evening  ;  when  f;j 
your  extreme  delight  Mr.  Stackpole  and  Miss  Ringgan  will  imme 
diately  commence  fighting.  I  shall  stay  at  home  to  see  !  "  ex- 
claimed  Constance,  with  little  bounds  of  delight  up  and  down  upon 
her  chair  which  this  time  afforded  her  the  additional  elasticity  of 
springs, — "  I  will  not  go.  1  am  persuaded  how  it  will  be,  and  j 
would  not  miss  it  for  anything." 

"  Dear  Constance  !  "  said  Fleda,  unable  to  help  laughing  througl. 
ill  her  vexation, — "  please  do  not  talk  so  !  You  know  very  well 
Mr.  Stackpole  only  comes  to  see  your  mother." 

"  He  was  here  last  night,"  said  Constance  in  an  extreme  state  of 
delight, — "  with  all  the  rest  of  your  admirers— ranged  in  the  hall, 
with  their  hats  in  a. pile  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase  as  a  token  ot 
their  determination  not  to  go  till  you  came  home  ;  and  as  they  could 
not  be  induced  to  come  up  to  the  drawing-room  Mr.  Evelyn  was 
obliged  to  go  down,  and  with  some  difficulty  persuaded  them  to  dis 
perse." 

Fleda  was  by  this  time  in  a  state  of  indecision  betwixt  crying  arid 
laughing,  assiduously  attentive  to  her  breakfast. 

"  Mr.  Carleton  asked  me  if  you  would  go  to  ride  with  him  again 
the  other  day,  FleJa,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  with  her  face  of  delighted 
mischief,—"  and  I  excused  you;  for  I  thought  you  would  thank  me 
for  it." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Constance,  "the  mention  of  that  name  rouses 
all  the  bitter  feelings  I  am  capable  of!  My  dear  Fieda — we  have 
been  friends — but  if  I  see  you  abstracting  my  English  rose  " — 

"  Look  at  those  roses  behind  you  !  "  said  Fleda. 

The  young  lady  turned  and  sprang  at  the  word,  followed  by  both 
her  sisters  ;  and  for  some  moments  nothing  but  a  hubbub  of  ex- 
clamations  filled  the  air. 

"  Joe,  you  are  enchanting! — Bjt  did  you  ever  see  such  flowers  ! 
—Oh  those  rose-buds  ! — '* 

"And  these  Camellias,"  said  Edith, — "  look,  Florence,  how  they 
are  cut — with  such  splendid  long  stems." 

"  And  the  roses  too — all  of  them— see  mamma,  just  cut  from  the 
ashes  with  the  buds  all  left  on,  and  immensely  long  steins— 
'.Viamma,  these  must  have  cost  an  immensity  ! — " 

"That  is  what  I  call  a  bouquet,"  said  'Fleda,  fain  to  leave  the 
iable  too  and  draw  near  the  tempting  show  in  Florence's  hand. 

"This  is  the  handsomest  you  have  had  all  winter,  Florence,"  said 
Edith. 

"  Handsomest ! — I  never  saw  anything  like  it.  I  shall  wear  some 
of  these  to-night,  mamma." 

"  You  are  in  a  great  hurry  to  appropriate  it,"  sak»  Constance, — 
Cl  ,:OTV  do  you  know  but  it  is  mine?  " 

"  Which  of  us  is  it  for,  Joe  ?  " 

"  Say  it  is  mine,  Joe,  and  I  will  vote  you — the  best  article  of  you* 
kind  !  "  said  Constance,  with  an  inexpressible  glance  at  Floda. 

••  Who  brought  it,  Joe?"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"Yes,  Toe,  who  brought  it?  where  did  it  come  from,  Joe  ?  " 


QU&ECBY.  345 

Joe  had  hardly  ft  chance  ro  answer. 

11  I  really  couldn't  say,  Miss  Florence, — the  man  wasn't  known 
vo  me." 

"  But  did  he  say  it  was  for  Florence  or  for  me?  " 

"  No  ma'am — he" — 

"  IV/iich  did  he  say  it  was  for  ?" 

"  He  didn't  say  it  was  either  for  Miss  Florence  or  for  you,  Miss 
'•instance  ;  he — " 

"  Bui  didn't  he  say  who  sent  it?  " 

'  No  ma'am.     It's  " — 

{:  Mamma  here  is  a  white  moss  that  is  beyond  everything  J  with 
,wo  of  the  most  lovely  buds — Oh  !  "  said  Constance  clasping  her 
hands  and  whirling  about  the  room  in  comic  ecstasy — "Isha'nt 
survive  it  if  1  cannot  find  out  where  it  is  from  ! — " 

"How  delicious  the  scent  of  these  tea-roses  is!"  said  Fleda. 
"  YTou  ought  not  to  mind  the  snow-storm  to-day  after  this,  Florence. 
I  should  think  you  would  be  perfectly  happy." 

"  I  shall  be,  if  I  can  contrive  to  keep  them  fresh  to  wear  to-night 
Mamma  how  sweetly  they  would  dress  me." 

"They're  a  gieat  deal  too  good  to  be  wasted  so,"  said  Mrs  Eve* 
iyn  ;  "  I  sha'n't  let  you  do  it." 

"  Mamma  ! — it  wouldn't  take  any  of  them  at  all  for  my  hair  and 
the  bouquet  de  corsage  too — there' d  be  thousands  left — Well  Joe, — 
what  are  you  waiting  for  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  say,"  said  Joe,  looking  a  good  deal  blank  and  a  little 
afraid, — "  I  should  have  said — that  the  bouquet — is — " 

'•  Wat  is  it?" 

"  It  is — I  believe  ma'am, — the  man  said  it  was  for  Miss  Ringgan." 

"  For  me  !  "  exclaimed  Fleda,  her  cheeks  forming  instantly  the 
most  exquisite  commentary  on  the  gift  that  the  giver  could  have  de- 
£  red.  She  took  in  her  hand  the  superb  bunch  of  flowers  from 
which  the  fingers  of  Florence  unclosed  as  if  it  had  been  an  icicle. 

"  Why  didn't  you  say  so  before  ?  "  she  inquired  sharply  ;  but  the 
'fowling-piece"  had  wisely  disappeared. 

11  I  am  very  glad  !  "  exclaimed  Edith.  "  They  have  had  plenty 
all  winter,  and  you  haven't  had  one — I  am  very  glad  it  is  yours, 
Fleda." 

But  such  a  shadow  had  come  upon  every  other  face  that  Fleda's 
pleasure  was  completely  overclouded.  She  smelled  at  her  roses, 
ust  ready  to  burst  into  tears,  and  wishing  sincerely  that  they  had 
lever  come. 

"I  am  afraid,  my  dear  Fleda,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  quietly  going 
on  with  her  breakfast, — "  that  there  is  a  thorn  somewhere  among 
.hose  flowers." 

Fleda  was  too  sure  of  it.  But  not  by  any  means  the  one  Mrs. 
Evelyn  intended. 

"  He  never  could  have  got  half  those  from  his  own  green  house, 
mamma,"  said  Florence, — "  if  he  had  cut  every  rose  that  was  in 
it;  and  he  isn  t  very  free  with  his  knife  either." 

"  I  said  nothing  about  anybody's  greenhouse,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn, 
'-•"  though  i  don't  suppose  there  is  more  than  one  Lot  in  the  city 
tfcey  could  have  come  from.'' 

"Weir,"  said  Constance  settling  herself  back  in  her  chair  :\\A 


846  QUEECHr. 

closing  her  eyes, — "I  feel  extinguished  ! Mamma,  do  you  sup. 

pose  it  possible  that  a  hot  cup  of  tea  might  revive  me  ?  I  am  suf 
fering  from  a  universal  sense  of  unappreciated  merit  ! — and  nobody 
can  tell  what  the  pain  is  that  hasn't  felt  it." 

"  I  think  you  are  extremely  foolish,  Constance,"  said  Edith. 
"  Fleda  hasn't  had  a  single  flower  sent  her  since  she  has  been  here 
and  you  have  had  them  every  other  day.  1  think  Florence  is  the 
only  one  that  has  a  right  to  be  disappointed." 

"Dear  Florence,"  said  Fleda  earnestly, — "you  shall  have  as 
many  of  them  as  you  please  to  dress  yourself, — and  welcome  !  " 

"  Oh  no — of  course  not! — "  Florence  said, — "  it's  of  no  sort  o; 
consequence — I  don't  want  them  in  the  least,  my  dear.  I  wonder 
what  somebody  would  think  to  see  his  flowers  in  my  head  !  " 

Fleda  secretly  had  mooted  the  same  question  and  was  very  well 
pleased  not  to  have  it  put  to  the  proof.  She  took  the  flowers  up 
stairs  after  breakfast,  resolving  that  they  should  not  be  an  eye-sore 
to  her  friends  ;  placed  them  in  water  and  sat  down  to  enjoy  and 
muse  over  them  in  a  very  sorrowful  mood.  She  again  thought  she 
would  take  the  first  opportunity  of  goingvhome.  How  strange — out 
of  their  abundance  of  tributary  flowers  to  grudge  her  this  one 
bunch  !  To  be  sure  it  was  a  magnificent  one.  The  flowers  were 
mostly  roses,  of  the  rarer  kinds,  with  a  very  few  fine  Camellias  ;  all 
of  them  cut  with  a  freedom  that  evidently  had  known  no  constraint 
but  that  of  taste,  and  put  together  with  an  exquisite  skill  that  Fleda 
felt  sure  was  never  possessed  by  any  gardener.  She  knew  that 
only  one  hand  had  had  anything  to  do  with  them,  and  that  the 
hand  that  had  bought,  not  the  one  that  had  sold  ;  and  "  How  very 
kind!  " — presently  quite  supplanted  "  How  very  strange  !  " — "  How 
exactly  like  him, — and  how  singular  that  Mrs.  Evelyn  and  her 
daughters  should  have  supposed  they  could  have  come  from  Mr. 
Thorn  "  It  was  a  moral  impossibility  that  he  should  have  put  such 
a  bunch  of  flowers  together;  while  to  Fleda's  eye  they  so  bore  the 
impress  of  another  person's  character  that  she  had  absolutely  been 
glad  to  get  them  out  of  sight  for  fear  they  might  betray  him.  She 
hung  over  their  varied  loveliness,  tasted  and  studied  it,  till  the  soft 
breath  of  the  roses  had  wafted  away  every  cloud  of  disagreeable 
feeling  and  she  was  drinking  in  pure  and  strong  pleasure  from  each 
leaf  and  bud.  What  a  very  apt  emblem  of  kindness  and  friendship 
she  thought  them  ;  when  their  gentle  preaching  and  silent  sympathy 
could  alone  so  nearly  do  friendship's  work  ;  for  to  Fleda  there  was 
both  counsel  and  consolation  in  flowers.  So  she  found  it  this  morn 
ing.  An  hour's  talk  with  them  had  done  her  a  great  deal  of  good, 
and  when  she  dressed  herself  and  went  down  to  the  drawing-room 
her  grave  little  face  was  not  less  placid  than  the  roses  she  had  left ; 
she  would  not  wear  even  one  of  them  down  to  be  a  disagreeable 
reminder.  And  she  thought  that  still  snowy  day  was  one  of  the 
very  pleasantest  she  had  had  in  New  York. 

Florence  went  to  Mrs.  Decatur's  ;  but  Constance  according  to 
her  avowed  determination  remained  at  home  to  see  the  fun.  Fleda 
hoped  most  sincerely  there  would  be  none  for  her  to  see. 

But  a  good  deal  to  her  astonishment,  early  in  the  evening  Mr. 
Carleton  walked  in,  followed  very  soon  by  Mr.  Thorn.  Constance 
•and  Mrs.  Evelyn  were  forthwith  in  a  perfect  effervescence  of  delight, 


qUEECHY.  347 

which  as  they  could  not  very  well  give  it  full  play  promised  to  last 
the  evening  ;  and  Fleda,  all  her  nervous  trembling  awakened  again, 
took  her  work  to  the  table  and  endeavored  to  bury  herself  in  it. 
But  ears  could  not  be  fastened  as  well  as  eyes  ;  and  the  mere  sound 
of  Mrs.  Evelyn's  voice  sometimes  sent  a  thrill  over  her. 

"  Mr.  Thorn,"  said  the  lady  in  her  smoothest  manner, — "are  you 
a  lover  of  floriculture,  sir  ?  " 

"  Can't  say  that  I  am,  Mrs.  Evelyn, — except  as  practised  by 
others. ' ' 

"Then  you  are  not  a  connoisseur  in  roses? — Miss  Ringgan'a 
happy  lot — sent  her  a  most  exquisite  collection  this  morning,  and 
she  has  been  wanting  to  apply  to  somebody  who  could  tell  her  what 
they  are — I  thought  you  might  know. — O  they  are  not  here,"  said 
Mrs.  Evelyn  as  she  noticed  the  gentleman's  look  round  the  room  ; 
— "  Miss  Ringgan  judges  them  too  precious  for  any  eyes  but  her 
own.  Fleda  my  dear,  won't  you  bring  down  your  roses  to  let  Mr. 
Thorn  tell  us  their  names?" 

"  I  am  sure  Mr.  Thorn  will  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Evelyn — I  believe 
he  would  find  it  a  puzzling  task." 

"  The  surest  way,  Mrs.  Evelyn,  would  be  to  apply  at  the  fountain* 
head  for  information,"  said  Thorn  dryly. 

"  If  I  could  get  at  it,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  (Fleda  knew  with  quiv 
ering  lips,) — "  but  it  seems  to  me  I  might  as  well  try  to  find  the  Dead 
Sea!" 

"  Perhaps  Mr.  Carleton  might  serve  your  purpose,"  said  Thorn. 

That  gentleman  was  at  the  moment  talking  to  Constance. 

"  Mr.  Carleton — "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn, — "  are  you  a  judge,  sir?" 

"Of  what,  Mrs.  Evelyn? — I  beg  your  pardon." 

The  lady's  tone  somewhat  lowered. 

"  Are  you  a  judge  of  roses,  Mr.  Carleton?  " 

"So  far  as  to  know  a  rose  when  I  see  it,"  he  answered  smiling, 
and  with  an  imperturbable  coolness  that  it  quieted  Fleda  to  hear. 

"Ay,  but  the  thing  is,"  said  Constance,  "do  you  know  twenty 
roses  when  you  see  them  ?  " 

"  Miss  Ringgan,  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  "has  received 
A  most  beautiful  supply  this  morning  ;  but  like  a  true  woman  she  is 
not  satisfied  to  enjoy  unless  she  can  enjoy  intelligently — they  are 
strangers  to  us  all,  and  she  would  like  to  know  what  name  to  give 
them — Mr.  Thorn  suggested  that  perhaps  you  might  help  us  out  of 
our  difficulty." 

"  With  great  pleasure,  so  far  as  I  am  able,— if  my  judgment  may 
be  exercised  by  daylight.  I  cannot  answer  for  shades  of  green  in 
the  night-time." 

But  he  spoke  with  an  ease  and  simplicity  that  left  no  mortal  able 
to  guess  whether  he  had  ever  heard  of  a  particular  bunch  of  roses 
in  his  life  before. 

"  You  give  me  more  of  Eve  in  my  character,  Mrs.  Evelyn,  than 
I  think  belongs  to  me,"  said  Fleda  from  her  work  at  the  far  centre- 
table,  which  certainly  did  not  get  its  name  from  its  place  in  the 
room.  "  My  enjoyment  to-day  has  not  been  in  the  least  troubled  by 
curiosity." 

Which  none  of  the  rest  of  the  family  could  have  affirmed. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Constance.  "  that  if 


348  QUEECHY. 

is  necessary  to  distinguish  between  sl.ades  of  green  in  judging  of 
roses?  " 

"It  is  necessary  to  make  shades  of  distinction  in  judging  of  al 
most  anything,  Miss  Constance.*  The  difference  between  varieties 
of  the  same  flower  is  often  extremely  nice." 

"  I  have  read  of  magicians,"  said  Thorn  softly,  bending  down 
to\vard  Fleda's  work, — "  who  did  not  need  to  see  things  to  answer 
questions  respecting  them." 

Fleda  thought  that  was  a  kind  of  magic  remarkably  common  in 
ihe  world  ;  but  even  her  displeasure  could  n.ct  give  her  courage  tc 
speak.  It  gave  her  courage  to  be  silent  however  ;  and  Mr.  Thorn's 
best  efforts  in  a  conversation  of  some  length  could  gain  nothing  but 
very  uninterested  rejoinders.  A  sudden  pinch  from  Constance  then 
made  her  look  up  and  almost  destroyed  her  self-possession  as  she 
saw  Mr.  Stackpole  make  his  way  into  the  room. 

"  I  hope  1  find  my  fair  enemy  in  a  modified  humor,"  he  said  ap 
proaching  them. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  repaired  damages,  Mr.  Stackpole,"  said 
Constance, — "since  you  venture  into  the  region  of  broken  windows 
again." 

"  Mr.  Stackpole  declared  there  were  none  to  repair,"  said  Mrs. 
Evelyn  from  the  sofa. 

"  More  than  I  knew  of,"  said  the  gentleman  laughing, — "  there 
were  more  than  1  knew  of  ;  but  you  see  I  court  the  danger,  having 
rashly  concluded  that  I  might  as  well  know  all  my  weak  points  ac 
once." 

"  Miss  Ringgan  will  break  nothing  to-night,  Mr.  Stackpole— she 
promised  me  she  would  not."  . 

"'Not  even  her  silence  ?  "  said  the  gentleman. 

"  Is  she  always  so, desperately  industrious?"   said  Mr.  Thorn. 

"  Miss  Ringgan,  Mr.  Stackpole,"  said  Constance,  "  is  subject  to 
occasional  fits  of  misanthropy,  in  which  cases  her  retreating  with 
her  work  to  the  solitude  of  the  centre-table  is  significant  of  her 
desire  to  avoid  conversation, — as  Mr.  Thorn  has  been  experienc 
ing." 

"  I  am  happy  to  see  that  the  malady  is  not  catching,  Miss  Con» 
stance." 

"Mr.  Stackpole!"  said  Constance, — "I  am  in  a  morose  state 
of  mind ! — Miss  Ringgan  this  morning  received  a  magniticen 
bouquet  of  roses  which  in  the  first  place  I  rashly  appropriated  ic 
myself;  and  ever  since  I  discovered  my  mistake  I  have  been 
meditating  the  renouncing  of  society — it  has  excited  more  bad  feel 
ing,  than  I  thought  had  existence  in  my  nature." 

"Mr.  Stackpole,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  "would  you  ever  have 
supposed  that  roses  could  be  a  cause  of  discord  ?  " 

Mr.  Stackpole  looked  as  if  he  did  not  exactly  know  what  the 
'aoies  were  driving  at. 

"  There  have  five  thousand  emigrants  arrived  at  this  port 
within  a  week!  "  said  he,  as  if  that  was  something  worth  talking 
about. 

''Poor  creatures!  where  will  they  all  go?"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn 
comfortably. 

"  Country's  large  enough,"  said  Thorn. 


QUEECH1*  34« 

"  Yes,  but  such  a  stream  of  immigration  will  reach  the  Pacific 
and  come  back  again  before  long  ;  and  then  there  will  be  a  meet 
ing  of  the  waters  !  This  tide  of  German  and  Irish  will  sweep  over 
everything. 

"  I  suppose  if  the  land  will  not  bear  both,  one  party  will  have  to 
seek  other  quarters,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  with  an  exquisite  satisfac 
tion  which  Fleda  could  hear  in  her  voice.  "  You  remember  the 
story  of  Lot  and  Abraham,  Mr.  Stackpole, — when  a  quarrel  arose 
between  them? — not  about  roses. 

Mr.  Stackpole  looked  as  if  women  were — to  say  the  least — in. 
Comprehensible. 

"  Five  thousand  a  week  !  "  he  repeated. 

11 1  wish  there  was  a  Dead  Sea  for  them  all  to  sheer  off  into  !  " 
said  Thorn. 

"  If  you  had  seen  the  look  of  grave  rebuke  that  speech  called 
forth,  Mr.  Thorn,"  said  Constance,  "  your  feelings  would  have 
been  penetrated — if  you  have  any." 

"I  had  forgotten,"  he  said,  looking  round  with  a  bland  change 
of  manner, — "  what  gentle  charities  were  so  near  me." 

"Mamma  !  "  said  Constance  with  a  most  comic  show  of  indigna 
tion, — "  Mr.  Thorn  thought  that  with  Miss  Ringgan  he  had  for 
gotten  all  the  gentle  charities  in  the  room  ! — I  am  of  no  further  use 
to  society  ! — I  will  trouble  you  to  ring  that  bell,  Mr.  Thorn,  if  you 
please.  I  shall  request  candles  and  retire  to  the  privacy  of  my  own 
apartment !  " 

11  Not  till  you  have  permitted  me  to  expiate  my  fault!  "  said  Mr. 
Thorn  laughing. 

"It  cannot  be  expiated! — My  worth  will  be  known  at  some 
future  clay. — Mr.  Carleton,  will  you  have  the  goodness  to  summon 
our  domestic  attendant?" 

"  If  you  will  permit  me  to  give  the  order,"  he  said  smiling,  with 
his  hand  on  the  bell.  "  I  am  afraid  you  are  hardly  fit  to  be  trusted 
alone." 

"Why?" 

"  May  I  delay  obeying  you  long  enough  to  give  my  reasons?  * 

"Yes." 

"  Because,"  said  he  coming  up  to  her,  "when  people  turn  away 
from  the  world  in  disgust  they  generally  find  worse  company  in 
themselves." 

"  Mr.  Carleton  ! — 1  would  not  sit  still  another  minute,  if.  curiosity 
didn't  keep  me.  I  thought  solitude  was  said  to  be  such  a  cor* 
rector?  " 

"Like  a  clear  atmosphere — an  excellent  medium  if  your  object 
;s  to  take  an  observation  of  your  position — worse  than  lost  if  you 
mean  to  shut  up  the  windows  and  burn  sickly  lights  of  your 
own." 

"Then  according  to  that  one  shouldn't  seek  solitude  unless  on* 
doesn't  want  it." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  with  that  eye  of  deep  meaning  i 
which  Constance  always  rendered  involuntary  homage,— "every 
one  wants  it  ; — if  we  do  not  daily  take  an  observation  to  find  where 
we  are,  we  are  sailing  about  wildly  and  do  not  know  whither  we  ar* 
going." 


350  QUEECHY. 

"An  observation?"  said  Constance,  understanding  part  and  iro« 
patient  of  not  catching  the  whole  of  his  meaning. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  with  a  smile  of  singular  fascination, — "  I  mean, 
consulting  the  unerring  guides  of  the  way  to  know  w7here  we  are 
and  if  we  are  sailing  safely  and  happily  in  the  right  direction — 
otherwise  we  are  in  danger  of  striking  upon  some  rock  or  of  never 
making  the  harbor  ;  and  in  either  case,  all  is  lost." 

The  power  of  eye  and  smile  was  too  much  for  Constance,  as  it 
had  happened  more  than  once  before  ;  her  own  eyes  fell  and  for  a 
moment  she  wore  a  look  of  unwonted  sadness  and  sweetness,  at 
what  from  any  other  person  would  have  roused  her  mockery. 

"Mr.  Carleton,"  said  she,  trying  to  rally  herself  but  still  not 
daring  to  look  up,  knowing  that  would  put  it  out  of  her  power, 
— "  I  can't  understand  how  you  ever  came  to  be  such  a  grave 
person." 

"What  is  your  idea  of  gravity  ?  "  said  he  smiling.  "  To  have  a 
mind  so  at  rest  about  the  future  as  to  be  able  to  enjoy  thoroughly 
all  that  is  worth  enjoying  in  the  present  ?  " 

"  But  I  can't  imagine  how  you  ever  came  to  take  up  such 
notions." 

"  May  I  ask  again,  why  not  I  ?  " 

"  O  you  know — you  have  so  much  to  make  you  otherwise." 

"  What  degree  of  present  contentment  ought  to  make  one  satis 
fied  to  leave  that  of  the  limitless  future  an  uncertain  thing?  " 

"  Do  you  think  it  can  be  made  certain  ?  " 

"Undoubtedly  ! — why  not?  the  tickets  are  free — the  only  thing  is 
to  make  sure  that  ours  has  the  true  signature.  Do  you  think  the 
possession  of  that  ticket  makes  life  a  sadder  thing  ?  The  very 
handwriting  of  it  is  more  precious  to  me,  by  far,  Miss  Constance, 
than  everything  else  I  have." 

"But  you  are  a  very  uncommon  instance,"  said  Constance,  still 
unable  to  look  up,  and  speaking  without  any  of  her  usual  attempt 
at  jocularity. 

"  No,  I  hope  not,"  he  said  quietly, 

"  I  mean,"  said  Constance,  "that  it  is  very  uncommon  language 
to  hear  from  a  person  like  you." 

"  I  suppose  I  know  your  meaning,"  he  said  after  a  minute's 
pause  ; — "  but,  Miss  Constance,  there  is  hardly  a  graver  thought  to 
me  than  that  power  and  responsibility  go  hand  in  hand." 

"  It  don't  generally  work  so,"  said  Constance  rather  uneasily. 

<"  What  are  you  talking  about,  Constance  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

c<  Mr.  Carleton,  mamma, — has  been  making  me  melancholy." 

"Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  "  I  am  going  to  petition  that 
you  will  turn  your  efforts  in  another  direction — I  have  felt  op 
pressed  all  the  afternoon  from  the  effects  of  that  funeral  service 
I  was  attending — I  am  only  just  getting  over  it.  The  preacher 
seemed  to  delight  in  putting  together  all  the  gloomy  thoughts  he 
could  think  of*" 

"Yes!  "  said  Mr.  Stackpole,  putting  his  hands  in  his  pockets, — 
"  it  is  the  particular  enjoyment  of  some  of  them,  1  believe,  to  do 
fceir  best  to  make  other  people  miserable." 

Mr.  Thorn  said  nothing,  being  warned  by  the  impatient  little 
hammering  of  Fleda's  worsted  needle  upon  the  marble,  while  hei 


QUEECHY.  361 

eye  was  no  longer  considering  her  work,  and^her  face  rested  anx 
iously  upon  her  hand. 

"There  wasn't  a  thing,"  the  lady  went  on, — "  in  anything  he 
said,  in  his  prayer  or  his  speech, — there  wasn't  a  single  cheering 
or  elevating  consideration, — all  he  talked  and  prayed  for  was  that 
the  people  there  might  be  rilled  with  a  sense  of  their  wickedness — 

<:  It's"  their  trade,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Stackpole, — "  it's  their 
trade  !  I  wonder  if  it  ever  occurs  to  them  to  include  themselves  in 
ihat  petition." 

"There  wasn't  the  slightest  effort  made  in  anything  he  said  o. 
prayed  for, — and  one  would  have  thought  that  would  have  been  so 
natural ! — there  was  not  the  least  endeavor  to  do  away  with  that  sup 
erstitious  fear  of  death  which  is  so  common — and  one  would  think 
it  was  the  very  occasion  to  do  it  ; — he  never  once  asked  that  we 
migV,  be  led  to  look  upon  it  rationally  and  calmly. — It's  so  unrea 
sonable,  Mr.  Stackpole— it  is  so  dissonant  with  our  views  of  a 
benevolent  Supreme  Being — as  if  it  could  be  according  to  his  will 
that  his  creatures  should  live  lives  of  tormenting  themselves — it  so 
shows  a  want  of  trust  in  his  goodness  !  " 

"  It's  a  relic  of  barbarism,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Stackpole  ; — "it's 
a  popular  delusion— and  it  is  like  to  be,  till  you  can  get  men  to  em 
brace  wider  and  more  liberal  views  of  things." 

"What  do  you  suppose  it  proceeds  from?"  said  Mr.  Carleton, 
as  if  the  question  had  just  occurred  to  him. 

"  I  suppose,  from  false  notions  received  from  education,  sir." 

"Hardly,"  said  Mr.  Carleton; — "it  is  too  universal.  You  find 
it  everywhere  ;  and  to  ascribe  it  everywhere  to  education  would  be 
but  shifting  the  question  back  one  generation." 

"  It  is  a  root  of  barbarous  ages,"  said  Mr.  Stackpole, — "  a 
piece  of  superstition  handed  down  from  father  to  son — a  set  of 
false  ideas  which  men  are  bred  up  and  almost  born  with,  and  that 
they  can  hardly  get  rid  of." 

"  How  can  that  be  a  root  of  barbarism,  which  the  utmost  de 
gree  of  intelligence  and  cultivation  has  no  power  to  do  away,  nor 
even  to  lessen,  however  it  may  afford  motive  to  control  ?  Men 
may  often  put  a  brave  face  upon  it  and  show  none  of  their  thoughts 
to  the  world  ;  but  I  think  no  one  capable  of  reflection  has  not  a 
times  felt  the  influence  of  that  dread." 

"  Men  have  often  sought  death,  of  purpose  and  choice,"  saK 
Mr.  Stackpole  dryly  and  rubbing  his  chin. 

"  Not  from  the  absence  of  this  feeling,  but  from  the  greater  mo. 
menLary  pressure  of  some  other." 

"Of  coarse,"  said  Mr.  Stackpole,  rubbing  his  chin  still—  "there  is 
a  natural  love  of  life — the  world  could  not  get  on  if  there  was  not." 

"  If  the  love  of  tlife  is  natural,  the  fear  of  death  must  be  so,  by 
the  same  reason." 

''Undoubtedly,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  "it  is  natural— it  is  part  of 
the  constitution  of  our  nature." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.   Stackpole,  settling  himself  again  in  his  chair 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, — "it  is  not  unnatural  I  suppose, 
but  then  that  is   the  first  view    of  the  subject — it  is  the  business  of 
reason   to  correct  many  impressions  and  prejudices  that  are,  as  we 
»ay,  natural/' 


"  And  there  was  where  my  clergyman  of  to-day  failed  utterly/* 
said  Mrs.  Evelyn  ;— "  he  aimed  at  strengthening  that  feeling  a«d 
driving  it  down  as  he  could  into  everybody's  mind— not  a  single 
lisp  of  anything  to  do  it  away  or  lessen  the  gloom  with  which  we 
are,  naturally  as  you  say,  disposed  to  invest  the  subject." 

"  I  dare  say  he  has  held  it  up  a  bugbear  till  it  has  become  one  to 
himself,"  said  Mr.  Stackpole. 

"  Is  it  nothing  more  than  the  mere  natural  dread  of  dissolution  ? '" 
said  Mr.  Carleton. 

"  I  think  it  is  that,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn, — "  I  think  that  is  the 
principal  thing." 

"Is  there  not  besides  an  undefined  fear  of  what  lies  beyond — an 
uneasy  misgiving  that  there  may  be  issues  which  the  spirit  is  not 
prepared  to  meet  ?" 

"  I  suppose  there  is,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn, — "  but  sir — ' 

'•Why  that  is  the  very  thing,"  said  Mr.  Stackpole, — "that  is 
the  mischief  of  education  I  was  speaking  of — men  are  brought  up 
to  it." 

"You  cannot  dispose  of  it  so,  sir,  for  this  feeling  is  quite  as 
universal  as  the  other  ;  and  so  strong  that  men  have  not  only  been 
willing  to  render  life  miserable  but  even  to  endure  death  itself, 
with  all  the  aggravation  of  torture,  to  'smooth  their  way  hi  that  un 
known  region  beyond." 

"  It  is  one  of  the  maladies  of  human  nature,"  said  Mr.  Stack- 
pole, — "that  it  remains  for  the  progress  of  enlightened  reason  to 
dispel." 

"  What  is  the  cure  for  the  malady  ?  "  said  Mr.  Carleton  quietly. 

"  Why  sir! — the  looking  upon  death  as  a  necesary  step  in  the 
course  of  our  existence  which  simply  introduces  us  from  a  lower  to 
3.  higher  sphere, — from  a  comparatively  narrow  to  a  wider  and 
nobler  range  of  feeling  and  intellect." 

"  Ay — but  how  shall  we  be  sure  that  it  is  so?" 

"Why  Mr.  Carleton,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn, — "do  you  doubt 
that?  Do  you  suppose  it  possible  for  a  moment  that  a  benevolenf 
being  would  make  creatures  to  be  anything  but  happy?  " 

"  You  believe  the  Bible,  Mrs.  Evelyn  ?  "  he  said  smiling  slightly. 

•'Certainly,  sir*;  but  Mr.  Carleton,  tire  Bible  I  am  sure  holds  out 
die  same  views  of  the  goodness  and  glory  of  the  Creator  ;  you  can 
not  open  it  but  you  find  them  on  every  page.  If  I  could  take  such 
views  of  things  as  some  people  have,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  getting: 
up  to  punch  the  fire  in  her  extremity, — "1  don't  know  what  I 
should  do  ! — Mr.  Carleton,  I  think  I  would  rather  never  have  been 
born,  sir !  " 

"  Every  one  runs  to  the  Bible  !  "  said  Mr.  Stackpole.  "  It  is  the 
general  armory,  and  all  parties  draw  from  it  to  tight  each  other." 

"True,"  said  M.  Carleton, — "  but  only  while  they  draxv  partially. 
No  man  can  fight  the  battle  of  truth  but  in  the  whole  panoply  ;  and 
no  man  so  armed  can  fight  any  other." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir?  " 

"  T  mean  that  the  Bible  is  not  a  riddle,  neither  inconsistent  with 
itself  ;  but  if  you  take  off  one  leg  of  a  pair  of  compasses  the  meas 
uring  power  is  gone. 

"But  Mr.  Carieton,   s.r."    said    Mrs.    Evelyn, — "do  you  think 


QUEECHY.  383 

ihat  reading  the  Bible  is  calculated  to  give  one  gloomy  ideas  of  the 
future?  " 

"By   no   means,"    he  said  with  one  of  those   meaning-fraught 
tmiles, — "  but  is  it  safe,  Mrs.  Evelyn,  in  such  a  matter,  to  venture 
a  single  grasp  of  hope  without  the  direct  warrant  of  God's  word?  " 
Well,  sir?" 

1  Well  ma'am, — that  says,  '  the  soul  that  sinneth,  it  shall  die.'  ' 

"That  disposes  of  the  whole  matter  comfortably  at  once,"  said 
Mr.  Stackpole. 

•«  But  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn, — "  that  doesn't  stand  alone— the 
Bible  everywhere  speaks  of  the  fulness  and  freeness  of  Christ's  sal 
vation  ?  " 

"  Full  and  free  as  it  can  possibly  be,"  he  answered  with  some* 
thing  of  a  sad  expression  of  countenance  ; — "  but,  Mrs.  Evelyn, 
never  offered  but  with  conditions." 

"  What  conditions  ?  "  said  Mr.  Stackpole  hastily. 

"  I  recommend  you  to  look  for  them,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Carle- 
ton,  gravely  ; — "  they  should  not  be  unknown  to  a  wise  man." 

"Then  you  would  leave  mankind  ridden  by  this  nightmare  of 
fear  ? — or  what  is  your  remedy  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  remedy,  siT,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  with  that  dilating 
and  darkening  *.ye  which  showed  him  deeply  engaged  in  what  he 
was  thinking  about ; — "  it  is  not  mine.  When  men  feel  themselves 
lost  and  are  willing  to  be  saved  in  God's  way,  then  the  breach  is 
made  up — then  hope  can  look  across  the  gap  and  see  its  best  ftome 
and  its  best  friend  on  tb?  other  side — then  faith  lays  hold  <in  for 
giveness  and  trembling  is  done — then,  sin  being  pardoned,  the  sting* 
of  death  is  taken  away  ttnd  the  fear  of  death  is  no  more,  for  it  is 
swallowed  up  in  victory,  But  men  will  not  apply  to  a  physician 
while  they  think  themselves  well ;  and  people  will  not  seek  the 
sweet  way  of  safety  by  Christ  till  they  know  there  is  no  oiher  ;  and 
to,  do  you  see,  Mrs.  Evelyn,  that  when  the  gentleman  you  were 
tpeaking  of  sought  to-day  to  persuade  his  hearers  that  they  were 
poorer  than  they  thought  they  were,  he  was  but  taking  the  surest 
way  to  bring  them  to  be  made  richer  than  they  ever  dreamed." 

There  was  a  power  of  gentle  earnestness  in  his  eye  that  Mrs. 
Evelyn  could  not  answer  ;  her  look  fell  as  that  of  Constance  had 
lone,  and  there  was  a  moment's  silence. 

Thorn  had  kept  quiet,  for  two  reasons — that  he  might  not  dis 
please  Fleda,  and  that  he  might  watch  her.  She  had  left  her 
work,  and  turning  half  round  from  the  table  had  listened  intently 
to  the  conversation,  toward  the  last  very  forgetful  that  there  might 
be  anybody  to  observe  her, — with  eyes  fixed,  and  cheeks  flushing, 
and  the  corners  of  the  mouth  just  indicating  delight, — till  the  silence 
fell ;  and  then  she  turned  round  to  the  table  and  took  up  her 
worsted-work.  But  the  lips  were  quite  grave  now,  and  Thorn's 
keen  eyes  discerned  that  upon  one  or  two  of  the  artificial  roses  there 
lay  two  or  three  very  natural  drops. 

"  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Edith,  "  what  makes  you  talk  such  sober 
things? — you  have  set  Miss  Ringgan  to  crying." 

"  Mr.  Carleton  could  not  be  better  pleased  than  at  such 
a  tribute  to  his  eloquence,"  said  Mr.  Thorn  with  a  saturnine  ex 
pression. 


354  qUEECHY. 

"Smiled  are  common  things,"  said  Mr.  Stackpole  a  little  ma« 
liciously  ;  "  but  any  man  may  be  flattered  to  find  his  words  drop 
diamonds." 

"  Fleda  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  with  that  trembling  tone 
of  concealed  ecstasy  which  always  set  every  one  of  Fleda's  nerves 
a  jarring, — "  you  may  tell  the  gentlemen  that  they  do  not  always 
know  when  they  are  making  an  unfelicitous  compliment — I  never 
read  what  poets  say  about  '  briny  drops '  and  '  salt  tears '  with= 
•ut  imagining  the  heroine  immediately  to  be  something  like  Lot's 
wife." 

"Nobody  said  anything  about  briny  drops,  mamma,1'  saict 
£dith.  "Why  there's  Florence! — " 

Her  entrance  made  a  little  bustle,  which  Fleda  was  very  glad  of. 
Unkind  ! — She  was  trembling  again  in  every  finger.  She  bent  down 
over  her  canvass  and  worked  away  as  hard  as  she  could.  That  did 
not  hinder  her  becoming  aware  presently  that  Mr.  Carleton  was 
standing  close  beside  her. 

"  Are  you  not  trying  your  eyes?  "  said  he. 

The  words  were  nothing,  but  the  tone  was  a  great  deal ;  there  was 
a  kind  of  quiet  intelligence  in  it.  Fleda  looked  up,  and  something 
in  the  clear  steady  self-reliant  eye  she  met  wrought  an  instant 
change  in  her  feeling.  She  met  it  a  moment  and  then  looked  at 
her  work  again  with  nerves  quieted. 

"  Cannot  I  persuade  them  to  be  of  my  mind  ?  "  said  Mr.  Carleton, 
bending  down  a  little  nearer  to  their  sphere  of  action. 

"  Mr.  Carleton  is  unreasonable,  to  require  more  testimony  of  that 
this  evening,"  said  Mr.  Thorn  ; — "  his  own  must  have  been  ill  em 
ployed." 

Felda  did  not  look  up,  but  the  absolute  quietness  of  Mr.  Carleton's 
manner  could  be  felt ;  she  felt  it,  almost  with  sympathetic  pain. 
Thorn  immediately  left  them  and  took  leave. 

"  What  are  you  searching  for  in  the  papers,  Mr.  Carleton?  "  said 
Mrs.  Evelyn  presently  coming  up  to  them. 

"  I  was  looking  for  the  steamers,  Mrs.  Evelyn." 

"  How  soon  do  you  think  of  bidding  us  good-bye?" 

"I  do  not  know,  ma'am,"  he  answered  coolly — "  I  expect  my 
mother." 

Mrs.  Evelyn  walked  back  to  her  sofa. 

But  in  the  space  of  two  minutes  she  came  over  to  the  centre-table 
again,  with  an  open  magazine  in  her  hand. 

"Mr.  Carleton,"  said  the  lady,  "  you  must  read  this  for  me  and 
tell  me  what  you  think  of  it,  will  you  sir  ?  I  have  been  showing  it 
to  Mr.  Stackpole  and  he  can't  see  any  beauty  in  it,  and  I  tell  him  it 
is  his  fault  and  there  is  some  serious  want  in  his  composition.  Now 
I  want  to  know  what  you  will  say  to  it." 

"  An  arbiter,  Mrs.  Evelyn,  should  be  chosen  by  both  parties." 

"  Read  it  and  tell  me  what  you  think !"  repeated  the  lady,  walk 
ing  away  to  leave  him  opportunity.  Mr.  Carleton  looked  it  over. 

"That  is  something  pretty,"  he  said  putting  it  before  Fleda. 
Mrs.  Evelyn  was  still  at  a  distance. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that  print  for  trying  the  eyes?"  said 
Fleda  laughing  as  she  took  it.  But  he  noticed  that  her  color  rose 
a  little. 


QUEECJY.  355 

'•  fcow  do  you  like  it?  " 

"  I  like  it,— pretty  well,"  said  Fleda  rather  hesitatingly. 

"  You  have  seen  it  before  ?  " 

"Why?"  Fleda  said,  with  a  look  up  at  him  at  once  a  little 
startled  and  a  little  curious  ; — "  what  makes  you  say  so  ? " 

"  Because — pardon  me — you  did  not  read  it." 

"  Oh,"  said  Fleda  laughing,  but  coloring  at  the  same  time  very 
frankly,  "  I  can  tell  how  I  like  some  things  without  reading  them 
rery  carefully." 

Mr  Carleton  looked  at  her,  and  then  took  the  magazine  again. 

"What  have  you  there,  Mr.  Carleton  ?  "  said  Florence. 

"  A  piece  of  English  on  which  I  was  asking  this  lady's  opinion. 
Miss  Evelyn." 

"  Now  Mr.  Carleton!  "  exclaimed  Constance  jumping  up, — "I 
am  going  to  ask  you  to  decide  a  quarrel  between  Fleda  and  me 
about  a  point  of  English  " 

"Hush,  Constance!"  said  her  mother, — "I  want  to  speak  to 
Mr.  Carleton — Mr.  Carleton,  how  do  you  like  it?" 

"Like  what,  mamma?"  said  Florence. 

"A  piece  I  gave  Mr.  Carleton  to  read.  Mr.  Carleton,  tell  me 
how  you  like  it,  sir." 

"  But  what  is  it,  mamma  ?  " 

"  A  piece  of  poetry  in  an  old  Excelsior — 'The  Spirit  of  the  Fire 
side.'  Mr.  Carleton,  won't  you  read  it  aloud,  and  let  us  all  hear — 
but  tell  me  first  what  you  think  of  it." 

"  It  has  pleased  me  particularly,  Mrs.  Evelyn." 

"  Mr.  Stackpole  says  he  does  not  understand  it,  sir." 

"Fanciful,"  said  Mr.  Stackpole,— "  it's  a  little  fanciful— and  I 
can't  quite  make  out  what  the  fancy  is." 

"  It  has  been  the  misfortune  of  many  good  things  before  not  to  be 
prized,  Mr.  Stackpole,"  said  the  lady  funnily. 

"True  ma'am,"  said  that  gentleman  rubbing  his  chin — "and 
the  converse  is  also  true  unfortunately, — and  with  a  much  wider  ap 
plication." 

"There  is  a  peculiarity  of  mental  development  or  training,"  said 
Mr.  Carleton,  "  which  must  fail  of  pleasing  many  minds  because  of 
their  wanting  the  corresponding  key  of  nature  or  experience.  Some 
literature  has  a  hidden  free-masonry  of  its  own." 

"  Very  hidden  indeed  !  "  said  Mr.  Stackpole  ; — "  the  cloud  is  so 
ihick  that  I  can't  see  the  electricity  !  " 

'•Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  laughing,  "I  take  that  re 
mark  as  a  compliment,  sir — I  have  always  appreciated  that  writer's 
pieces — I  enjoy  them  very  much." 

"Well  won't  you  please  read  it,  Mr.  Carleton?"  said  Florence, 
"  and  let  us  know  what  we  are  talking  about." 

Mr.  Carleton  obeyed,  standing  where  he  was  by  the  centre* 
table. 

"  By  tht  «lel  he«thstone  a  Spirit  dwells, 

The  child  »f  Itygene  years, — 
He  lieth  hid  the  stones  amid, 
And  liveth  en  smiles  and  tears. 


S5*  iff. 

**  ftet  wktm  ths  night  ii  drawing  §& 

And  the  fire  bums  cleif  wul  brigh 
Hfe  com«th  out  and  wtiketh  about* 
lh  the  pleasant  grave 'twilight 

He  goeth  found  on  hptoe  soft, 

And  scanneth  close  each  face; 
If  one  in  the  room  be  sunk  in  gloo«l, 

By  him  he  taketh  his  place. 

**  And  then  with  fingers  cool  and  soft, 
(Their  touch  who  does  not  know) 
With  water  brought  from  the  well 
That  was  dug  long  years  ago, 

"  He  layeth  his  hand  on  the  weary  eyes, — 

They  are  closed  and  quiet  now ; — 
And  he  wipeth  away  the  dust  of  the  day 
Which  had  settled  on  the  brow. 

"  And  gently  then  he  walketh  away 

And  sits  in  the  corner  chair ; 
And  the  closed  eyes  swim — it  seemeth  to  him 
The  form  that  once  sat  there. 

•«  And  whispered  words  of  comfort  and  love 

Fall  sweet  on  the  ear  of  sorrow ; — 
« Why  weepest  thou  ? — though  art  troubled  now, 
But  there  cometh  a  bright  to-moi*-<?w. 

** * We  too  have  passed  over  life's  wild  streaw 

In  a  frail  and  shattered  boat, 
But  the  pilot  was  sure — and  we  sailed  secure 
When  we  seemed  but  scarce  afloat. 

«< «  Though  tossed  by  the  rage  of  waves  and  wind. 

The  bark  held  together  still. — 
One  arm  was  strong — it  bore  us  along, 
And  has  saved  from  every  ill.' 

**  The  Spirit  returns  to  his  hiding-place, 
But  his  words  have  been  like  balm. 
The  big  tears  start — but  the  fluttering  heart 
Is  soothed  and  softened  and  calm." 

"I  remember  that,"  said  Florence  ; — "  it  is  beautiful." 

"  Who's  the  writer?  "  said  Mr.  Stackpole. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn, — "it  is  signed  '  Hugh ''— 
there  have  been  a  good  many  of  his  pieces  in  the  Excelsior  for  a  year 
past — and  all  of  them  pretty.* 

"  Hugh  !  "  exclaimed  Edith  springing  forward, — "that's  the  onq 
that  wrote  the  chestnuts! — Fleda,  won't  you  read  Mr.  Carleton  the 
Chestnuts  ?  " 

"  Why  no,  Edith,  I  think  not." 

"  Ah  do  !  I  like  it  so  much,  and  I  want  him  to  hear  it,— and  yew 
mamma  says  they're  all  pretty.  Won't  you?  " 


41  My  Aw  Edkh,  you  hiv»  heard  it  enes 

11  But  t  want  you  to  r«fcd  it  fof  mi  again/1 

"Let  me  have  it,  Miss  Edith/'  said  ttf,  CtffetBft 
will  read  it  for  you." 

"  Ah  but  it  would  be  twice  as  good  if  you  could  hear  her  read  it," 
said  Edith,  fluttering  over  the  leaves  of  the  magazine, — "  she  reads 
it  so  well.  It's  so  funny— about  the  coffee  and  buckwheat  cakes." 

11  Wnat  is  that  Edith?  "  said  her  mother. 

"  Something  Mr.  Carleton  is  going  to  read  for  me  mamma/' 

"  Don't  you  trouble  Mr.  Carleton." 

"It  won't  trouble  him,  mamma — he  promised  of  his  own  ac 
cord." 

"  Let  us  all  have  the  benefit  of  it  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  the  lady. 

It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  Fleda's  politeness  utterly  deserted  hei 
during  the  reading  of  both  this  piece  and  the  last.  She  as  near  a& 
possible  turned  her  back  upon  the  reader. 

«  Merrily  sang  the  crickets  forth 

One  fair  October  night ; — 

And  the  stars  looked  down,  and  the  northern  crown 
Gave  its  strange  fantastic  light. 

«  A  nipping  frost  was  in  the  air, 
On  flowers  and  grass  it  fell : 
And  the  leaves  were  still  on  the  eastern  hill 
As  if  touched  by  a  fairy  speli. 

"To  the  very  top  of  the  tall  nut-trees 

The  frost-king  seemed  to  ride ; 
With  his  wand  he  stirs  the  chestnut  burrs, 
And  straight  they  are  opened  wide. 

**  And  squirrels  and  children  together  dream 

Of  the  coming  winter's  hoard  ; 
And  many,  I  ween,  are  the  chestnuts  seen 
In  hole  or  in  garret  stored. 

*  The  children  are  sleeping  in  feather-beds- 
Poor  Bun  in  his  mossy  nest, — 
He  courts  repose  with  his  tail  on  his  nose, 
On  the  others  warm  blankets  rest. 

*«  Late  in  the  morning  the  sun  gets  up 

From  behind  the  village  spire  ; 

And  the  children  dream,  that  the  first  red  gleam         , 
Is  the  chestnut  trees  on  fire  ! 

M  The  squirrel  had  on  when  he  first  awoke 

All  the  clothing  he  could  command ; 
And  his  breakftfct  was  light — he  just  took  *  bite 
Of  an  acorn  that  lay  at  hand  ; 

"And  then  he  was  off  to  the  trees  to  work ; — 

While  the  children  sometime  it  takes 
T«  dress  and  to  eat  what  they  think 
Of  ooffee  amd  buckwheat  cakes. 


5£  QUEECNT. 

u  The  sparkling  frost  when  they  first  go  out, 

Lies  thick  upon  all  around ; 
And  earth  anu  grass,  as  they  onward  pass, 
Give  a  pleasant  crackling  sound. 

M « O  there  is  a  heap  of  chestnuts,  see  !  ' 

Cried  the  youngest  of  the  train  ; 

For  they  came  to  a  stone  where  the  squirrel  had  throwa 
What  he  meant  to  pick  up  again. 

«*  And  two  bright  eyes  from  the  tree  o'erhead, 

Looked  down  at  the  open  bag 
"Where  the  nuts  went  in — and  so  to  begin, 
Almost  made  his  courage  flag. 

••  Away  on  the  hill,  outside  the  wood, 

Three  giant  trees  there  stand ; 
And  the  chestnuts  bright  that  hang  in  sight, 
Are  eyed  by  the  youthful  band. 

"  And  one  of  their  number  climbs  the  tree, 

And  passes  from  bough  to  bough, — 
And  the  children  run — for  with  pelting  fun 
The  nuts  fall  thickly  now. 

«« Some  of  the  burrs  are  still  shut  tight, — 

Some  open  with  chestnuts  three, — 
And  some  nuts  fall  with  no  burrs  at  ah—* 
Smooth,  shiny,  as  nuts  should  be. 

"  O  who  can  tell  what  fun  it  was 

To  see  the  prickly  shower ! 
To  feel  what  a  whack  on  head  or  back, 
Was  within  a  chestnut's  power !  — 

•*  To  run  beneath  the  shaking  tree, 

And  then  to  scamper  away ; 
And  with  laughing  shout  to  dance  about 
The  grass  where  the  chestnuts  lay. 

•*  With  flowing  dresses,  and  blowing  hair, 

And  eyes  that  no  shadow  knew, — 
Like  the  growing  light  of  a  morning  bright— 
The  dawn  of  the  summer  blue  ! 

*The  work  was  ended — the  trees  were  stripped — 

The  children  were  '  tired  of  play.' 
And  they  forgot  (but  the  squirrel  did  not) 
The  wrong  they  had  done  that  day." 

Whether  it  was  from  the  reader's  enjoyment  or  good  giving  of 
these  lines,  or  from  Edith's  delight  in  them,  he  was  frequently  inter* 
rupted  with  bursts  of  laughter. 

"  I  can  understand  Ma/."  said  Mr.  Stackpole,  "  without  any  di£ 
ficulty." 


QVSECffT.  389 

"You  are  not  lost  in  the  mysteries  of  chestnuting  in  open  day- 
fight,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Edith,  "  wouldn't  you  have  taken  the  squir 
rel's  chestnuts?  " 

"  I  believe  I  should,  Miss  Edith, — if  I  had  not  been  hindered." 

"  But  what  would  have  hindered  you  ?  don't  you  think  it  was 
light?" 

"Ask  your  friend  Miss  Ringgan  what  she  thinks  of  it,"  said  he 
smiling. 

"  Now  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Constance  as  he  threw  down  the  mag^ 
azine,    "  will  you  decide  that  point  of  English  between  Miss  Ring 
gan  and  me  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  the  pleadings  on  both  sides,  Miss  Con* 
stance." 

"  Well  Fleda  will  you  agree  to  submit  it  to  Mr.  Carleton  ?  " 

"  I  must  know  by  what  standards  Mr.  Carleton  will  be  guided  be 
fore  I  agree  to  any  such  thing,"  said  Fleda. 

"Standards!  but  aren't  you  going  to  trust  anybody  in  anything 
without  knowing  what  standards  they  go  by  ?  '' 

"Would  that  be  a  safe  rule  to  follow  in  general?"  said  Fleda 
smiling. 

"  You  won't  be  a  true  woman  if  you  don't  follow  it,  sooner  or 
later,  my  dear  Fleda,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn.  "  Every  woman  must." 

"  The  later  the  better  ma'am,  I  cannot  help  thinking." 

'"  You  will  change  your  mind,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  complacently. 

"  Mamma's  notions,  Mr.  Stackpole,  would  satisfy  any  man's 
pride,  when  she  is  expatiating  upon  the  subject  of  woman's  depend 
ence,"  said  Florence. 

"The  dependence  of  affection,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn.  "  Of  course  ! 
It's  their  lot.  Affection  always  leads  a  true  woman  to  merge  her 
separate  judgment,  on  anything,  in  the  judgment  of  the  beloved 
object." 

"Ay,"  said  Fleda  laughing, — "suppose  her  affection  is  wasted 
on  an  object  that  has  none  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Fleda!  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  with  a  funny  expression, — 
"  that  can  never  be,  you  know — don't  you  remember  what  your 
favorite  Longfellow  says — «  affection  never  is  wasted  ?  ' — Florence, 
my  love,  just  hand  me  '  Evangeline  '  there — I  want  you  to  listen  to 
it,  Mr.  Stackpole — here  it  is — 

« Talk  not  of  wasted  affection  ;  affection  never  was  wasted ; 

If  it  enrich  not  the  heart  of  another,  its  waters  returning 

Back  to  their  springs  shall  fill  them  full  of  refreshment. 

That  which  the  fountain  sends  forth  returns  again. to  the  fountain."* 

"  How  very  plain  it  is  that  was  written  by  a  man  !  "  said  Fleda. 

"  Why?"  said  Mr.  Carleton  laughing. 

"  I  always  thought  it  was  so  exquisite  !  "  said  Florence. 

"  /  was  so  struck  with  it,"  said  Constance,  "  that  1  have  been 
looking  ever  since  for  an  object  to  waste  my  affections  upon." 

"  Hush,  Constance  !  "  said  her  mother.  "  Don't  you  like  it,  Mr, 
Carleton  ?  " 

"I  should  like  to  hear  Miss  Ringgan's  commentary,"  said  Mr, 


300 

Stackpole  ;  —  "  I  can't  anticipate  it.  I  should  have  said  the  sentfc 
ment  was  quite  soft  and  tender  enough  for  a  woman." 

"  Don't  you  agree  with  it,  Mr.  Carleton,"  repeated  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"  I  beg  leave  to  second  Mr.  Stackpole's  motion,"  he  said  smik 
ing. 

"  Fleda  my  dear,  you  must  explain  yourself,  —  the  gentlemen  are 
at  a  stand." 

"  I  believe,  Mrs.  Evelyn,"  said  Fleda  smiling  and  blushing,  — 
"  I  am  of  the  mind  of  the  old  woman  who  couldn't  bear  to  see 
anything  wasted." 

"  But  the  assertion  is  that  it  isn't  wasted,"  said  Mr.  Stackpole. 

"  '  That  which  the  fountain  sends  forth  returns  again  to  the 
fountain,'  "  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"Yes,  to  flood  and  lay  waste  the  fair  growth  of  nature,"  said 
Fleda  with  a  little  energy,  though  her  color  rose  and  rose  higher. 
"  Did  it  never  occur  to  you,  Mrs.  Evelyn,  that  the  streams  which 
fertilize  as  they  flow  do  but  desolate  if  their  course  be  checked  ?  " 

"  But  your  objection  lies  only  against  the  author's  figure,"  said 
Mr.  Stackpole  ;  —  "  come  to  the  fact." 

"I  was  speaking  as  he  did,  sir,  of  the  fact  under  the  figure  —  I 
did  not  mean  to  separate  them." 

Both  the  gentlemen  were  smiling,  though  with  very  different 
expression. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  "the  writer  was  thinking  of  a 
gentler  and  more  diffusive  flow  of  kind  feeling,  which  however  it 
may  meet  with  barren  ground  and  raise  no  fruit  there,  is  sure  in  due 
time  to  come  back,  heaven-refined,  to  refresh  and  replenish  its 
source." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  Fleda  with  a  very  pleased  answering  look.  — 
"I  do  not  recollect  how  it  is  brought  in  —  I  may  have  answered 
rather  Mrs.  Evelyn  than  Mr.  Longfellow." 

"  But  granting  that  it  is  an  error,"  said  Mr.  Stackpole,  "  as  you 
understood  it,  —  what  shows  it  to  have  been  made  by  a  man  ?  " 

"  It's  utter  ignorance  of  the  subject,  sir.'* 

"  You  think  they  never  waste  their  affections  ?  "  said  he. 

"  By  no  means  !  but  I  think  they  rarely  waste  so  much  in  any  one 
direction  as  to  leave  them  quite  impoverished." 

"  " 


Mr.  Carleton,  how  do  you  bear  that,  sir?  "  said  Mrs. 
Will  you  let  such  an  assertion  pass  unchecked  ?  " 
"  I  would  not  if  I  could  help  it,  Mrs.  Evelyn." 
"  That  isn't  saying  much  for  yourself,"  said  Constance  ;  —  "  but 
Fleda  my  dear,  where  did  you  get  such  an  experience  of  waste 
and  desolation  ?  " 

"  Oh,  •  man  is  a  microcosm,'  you  know,"  said  Fleda  lightly. 
11  But  you  make  it  out  that  only  one  half  of  mankind  can  ap 
propriate  that  axiom/'  said  Mr.  Stackpole.     "  How  can  a  woman 
know  nttns  hearts  so  well  ?  " 

"  On  the  principle  that  the  whole  is  greater  than  a  part  ?"  said 
Mr.  Carleton  smiling. 

I'll  sleep  upon  that  before  I  give  my  opinion,"  said  Mr.  Stack* 

"  Mrs.  Evelyn,  good-evening  !  —  " 

Wefl  Mr.  Carkton  !  "  said  Constance,  "  y^u  have  said  a  great 
deal  for  women's  minds.  ' 


qUEEGHY.  361 

"Some  women's  minds,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 

"  And  some  men's  minds,"  said  Fleda.  "  I  was  speaking  only 
in  the  general." 

Her  eye  half  unconsciously  reiterated  her  meaning  as  she  shook 
hands  with  Mr.  Carleton.  And  without  speaking  a  word  for  other 
people  to  hear,  his  look  and  smile  in  return  were  more  than  an 
answer.  Fieda  sat  for  some  time  after  he  was  gone  trying  to 
think  what  it  was  in  eye  and  lip  which  had  given  her  so  much 
pleasure.  She  could  not  make  out  anything  but  approbation,— 
the  look  of  loving  approbation  that  one  gives  to  a  good  child  ; 
but  she  thought  it  had  also  something  of  that  quiet  intelligence — 
a  lilent  communication  of  sympathy  which  the  others  in  company 
could  not  share. 

She  was  roused  from  her  reverie  by  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"  Fleda  my  dear,  I  am  writing  to  your  aunt  Lucy — have  you 
any  message  to  send  ?  " 

"  No  Mrs.  Evelyn — I  wrote  myself  to-day." 

And  she  went  back  to  her  musings. 

"  I  am  writing  about  you,  Fleda,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  again  in  a 
few  minutes. 

"Giving  a  good  account,  I  hope,  ma'am,"  said  Fleda  smiling. 

"  I  shall  tell  her  I  think  sea-breezes  have  an  unfavorable  effect 
upon  you,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  ; — "  that  I  am  afraid  you  are  grow 
ing  pale ;  and  that  you  have  clearly  expressed  yourself  in  favor 
of  a  garden  at  Queechy  rather  than  any  lot  in  the  city — or  any 
where  else  ; — so  she  had  better  send  for  you  home  immediately." 

Fleda  tried  to  find  out  what  the  lady  really  meant ;  but  Mrs. 
Evelyn's  delighted  amusement  did  not  consist  with  making  the 
matter  very  plain.  Fleda' s  questions  did  nothing  but  aggravate 
the  cause  of  them,  to  her  own  annoyance  ;  so  she  was  fain  at  last 
to  take  her  light  and  go  to  her  own  room. 

She    looked    at   her   flowers   again  with   a  renewal  of  the  first 
pleasure  and  of   the  quieting  influence  the  giver  of  them  had  ex 
ercised  over  her  that  evening  ;  thought  again  how  very  kind  it  was 
of  him  to  send  them,  and  to  choose  them   so ;    how  strikingly  he 
differed  from  other  people  ;  how  glad  she  was  to  have  seen  him 
again,  and  how  more   than   glad   that  he  was   so  happily  changed 
from  his  old  self.     And  then  from  that  change  and  the  cause  of  it 
vO  those   higher,  more  tranquilizing,  and  sweetening  influences  tha 
own   no   kindred  with   earth's   dust   and  descend  like  the  dew  o 
heaven  to  lay  and  fertilize  it.     And  when  she  laid  herself  down  tc 
sleep  it  was  with  a  spirit  grave,  but  simply  happy  ;  every  annoyance 
and  unkindness  as  unfelt  now  as  ever  the  parching  heat  of  a  few 
hours  before  when  the  stars  are  abroad. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 
A  snake  bedded  himself  under  the  threshold  of  »  country  hoti 

L'ESTRAWOE. 

To  Fleda' s  very  great  satisfaction  Mr.  Thorn  was  not  seen  ag aw. 
for  several  days.  It  would  have  been  to  her  very  great  comfort  too 
If  h*  could  have  been  permitted  to  die  out  of  mind  as  well  as  out  oi 


862  QUEECHY. 

sight  ;  but  he  was  brought  up  before  her  "  lots  of  times/  till  poo* 
Fleda  almost  felt  as  if  she  was  really  in  the  moral  neighborhood  oi 
the  Dead  Sea,  every  natural  growth  of  pleasure  was  so  withered 
under  the  barren  spirit  of  raillery.  Sea-breezes  were  never  so  dis 
agreeable  since  winds  blew  ;  and  nervous  and  fidgety  again  when 
ever  Mr.  Carleton  was  present,  Fleda  retreated  to  her  work  and  the 
table  and  withdrew  herself  as  much  as  she  could  from  notice  and 
conversation  ;  feeling  humbled, — feeling  sorry  and  vexed  and 
ashamed,  that  such  ideas  should  have  been  put  into  her  head,  the 
absurdity  of  which,  she  thought,  was  only  equalled  by  their  need- 
i.essness.  "  As  much  as  she  could  "  she  withdrew  ;  but  that  wai 
not  entirely  ;  now  and  then  interest  made  her  forget  herself,  and 
quitting  her  needle  she  would  give  eyes  and  attention  to  the  princi 
pal  speaker  as  frankly  as  he  could  have  desired.  Bad  weather  and 
bad  roads  for  those  days  put  riding  out  of  the  question. 

One  morning  she  was  called  down  to  see  a  gentleman,  and  came 
eschewing  in  advance  the  expected  image  of  Mr.  Thorn.  It  was  a 
very  different  person. 

"  Charlton  Rossitur !  My  dear  Charlton,  how  do  you  do? 
Where  did  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  You  had  better  ask  me  what  I  have  come  for,"  he  said  laugh 
ing  as  he  shook  hands  with  her. 

"  What  have  you  come  for  ?  " 

"  To  carry  you  home." 

"  Home!  "  said  Fleda. 

"  I  am  going  up  there  for  a  day  or  two,  and  mamma  wrote  me  I 
had  better  act  as  your  escort,  which  of  course  I  am  most  willing  to 
do.  See  what  mamma  says  to  you." 

"  When  are  you  going,  Charlton?  "  said  Fleda  as  she  broke  the 
seal  of  the  note  he  gave  her. 

"To-morrow  morning." 

"That  is  too  sudden  a  notice,  Capt.  Rossitur,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 
"  Fleda  will  hurry  herself  out  of  her  color,  and  then  your  mothe* 
will  say  there  is  something  in  sea-breezes  that  isn't  good  for  her ; 
and  then  she  will  never  trust  her  within  reach  of  them  again, — 
which  I  am  sure  Miss  Ringgan  would  be  sorry  for." 

Fleda  took  her  note  to  the  window,  half  angry  with  herself  that 
a  kind  of  banter  in  which  certainly  there  was  very  little  wit  should 
have  power  enough  to  disturb  her.  But  though  the  shaft  might  be 
a.  slight  one  it  was  winged  with  a  will  ;  the  intensity  of  Mrs.  Eve* 
3yn's  enjoyment  in  her  own  mischief  gave  it  all  the  force  that  was 
wanting.  Fleda' s  head  was  in  confusion  ;  she  read  her  aunt's  note 
three  times  over  before  she  had  made  up  her  mind  on  any  point 
respecting  it. 

•«  MY  DEAREST  FLEDA, 

Charlton  is  coming  home  for  a  day  or  two — hadn't  you  better 
take  the  opportunity  to  return  with  him  ?  I  feel  as  if  you  had  been 
long  away,  my  dear  child — don't  you  feel  so  too?  Your  uncle  is 
very  desirous  of  seeing  you  ;  and  as  for  Hugh  and  me  we  are  but 
half  ourselves.  I  would  not  still  say  a  word  about  you^  coming 
home  if  it  were  for  your  good  to  stay  ;  but  I  fancy  from  something 
in  Mrs.  Evelyn's  letter  that  Queechy  air  will  by  this  tirn*  fa  you 


QUEECHY.  3«3 

food  again ;  and  opportunities  of  making  the  journey  are  very  un 
certain.  My  heart  has  grown  lighter  since  I  gave  it  leave  to  expect 
ydu.  Yours,  my  darling,  L.  R. 

"  P.  S.     I  will  write  to  Mrs.  E.  soon." 

"  What  string  has  pulled  these  wires  that  are  twitching  me  home  ?" 
thought  Fleda,  as  her  eyes  went  over  and  over  the  words  which  the 
feeling  of  the  lines  of  her  face  would  alone  have  told  her  were  un 
welcome.  And  why  unwelcome  ? — "  One  likes  to  be  moved  by  fait 
weans  and  not  by  foul,"  was  the  immediate  answer.  "And  be* 
sides,  it  is  very  disagreeable  to  be  taken  by  surprise.  Whenever 
in  any  matter  of  my  staying  or  going,  did  Aunt  Lucy  have  any  wish 
but  my  pleasure  ?  "  Fleda  mused  a  little  while  ;  and  then  with  a 
perfect  understanding  of  the  machinery  that  had  been  at  work, 
though  an  extremely  vague  and  repulsed  notion  of  the  spring  that 
had  moved  it,  she  came  quietly  out  from  her  window  and  told 
Charkon  she  would  go  with  him. 

"But  not  to-morrow?"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  composedly.  "You 
will  not  hurry  her  off  so  soon  as  that,  Capt.  Rossitur?" 

"  Furloughs  are  the  stubbornest  things  in  the  world,  Mrs.  Eve 
lyn  ;  there  is  no  spirit  of  accommodation  about  them.  Mine  lies 
between  to-morrow  morning  and  one  other  morning  some  two  days 
thereafter ;  and  you  might  as  soon  persuade  Atlas  to  change  his 
place.  Will  you  be  ready,  coz  ?  " 

"  I  will  be  ready,"  said  Fleda  ;  and  her  cousin  departed. 

"  Now  my  dear  Fleda,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  but  it  was  with  that 
funny  face,  as  she  saw  Fleda  standing  thoughtfully  before  the  fire, 
— "you  must  be  very  careful  in  getting  your  things  together — " 

"Why,  Mrs.  Evelyn?" 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  leave  something  behind  you,  my  love." 

"  I  will  take  care  of  that,  ma'am,  and  that  I  may  I  will  go  and 
see  about  it  at  once." 

Very  busy  till  dinner-time  ;  she  would  not  let  herself  stop  to  think 
about  anything.  At  dinner  Mr.  Evelyn  openly  expressed  his  re 
grets  for  her  going  and  his  earnest  wishes  that  she  would  at  least 
stay  rill  the  holidays  were  over. 

"  Don't  you  know  Fleda  better,  papa,"  said  Florence,  "than  to 
try  to  make  her  alter  her  mind  ?  When  she  says  a  thing  is  detern> 
ined  upon,  I  know  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  submit,  with  as  good 
a  grace  as  you  can." 

"I  tried  to  make  Capt.  Rossitur  leave  her  a  little  longer,"  said 
Mrs.  Evelyn  ;  "  but  he  says  furloughs  are  immovable,  and  his  be 
gins  to-morrow  morning — so  he  was  immovable  too.  I  should 
keep  her  notwithstanding,  though,  if  her  aunt  Lucy  hadn't  sent  for 
her." 

"  Well  see  what  she  wants,  and  come  back  again,"  said  Mr. 
Evelyn. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Fleda  smiling  gratefully,—"  I  think  not 
thi«  winter." 

"  There  are  two  are  three  ot  my  friends  that  will  be  confound 
edly  taken  aback,"  said  Mr.  Evelyn,  carefully  helping  himself  to 


gravy. 
"I  i 


expect  that  an  immediate  depopulation  ot  INCW   Yurie  wUI 


364  QUEECff*. 

commence,"  saiu  Constance, — "and  goon  till  me  ucights  about 
Queechy  are  all  thickly  settled  with  elegant  country-seats, — which 
:s  the  conventional  term  for  a  species  of  mouse-trap  !  " 

14  Hush,  you  baggage!  "  said  her  father.  "  Fleda,  I  wish  you 
could  spate  her  a  little  of  your  common-sense,  tc  go  through  the 
*vorld  with," 

11  Papa  thinks,  you  see,  my  dear,  that  you  have  more  than 
enough — which  is  not  perhaps  precisely  the  compliment  he  in- 
Bended." 

"  I  take  the  full  benefit  of  his  and  yours,"  said  Fleda  smiling. 

After  dinner  she  had  just  time  to  run  down  to  the  library  to  bid 
>_)r.  Gregory  good-bye  ;  her  last  walk  in  the  city.  It  wasn't  a  walk 
she  enjoyed  much. 

"  Going  to-morrow,"  said  he.  "  Why  I  am  going  to  Boston  in  a 
week — you  had  better  stay  and  go  with  me." 

"  I  can't  now,  uncle  Orrin — I  am  dislodged — and  you  know  there 
is  nothing  to  do  then  but  to  go." 

"  Come  and  stay  with  me  till  next  week." 

But  Fleda  said  it  was  best  not,  and  went  home  to  finish  her  prep 
arations. 

She  had  no  chance  till  late,  for  several  gentleman  spent  the  even 
ing  with  them.  Mr.  Carleton  was  there  part  of  the  time,  but  he  was 
one  of  the  first  to  go  ;  and  Fleda  could  not  find  an  opportunity  to 
5ay  that  she  should  not  see  him  again.  Her  timidity  would  not  al 
low  her  to  make  one.  But  it  grieved  her. 

At  last  she  escaped  to  her  own  room,  where  most  of  her  packing 
was  still  to  do.  By  the  time  half  the  floor  and  all  the  bed  was 
strewn  with  neat-looking  piles  of  things,  the  varieties  of  hermodest 
wardrobe,  Florence  and  Constance  came  in  to  see  and  talk  with 
her,  and  sat  down  on  the  floor  too  ;  partly  perhaps  because  the 
chairs  were  all  bespoken  in  the  service  of  boxes  and  baskets, 
and  partly  to  follow  what  seemed  to  be  the  prevailing  style  of 
things. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  has  become  of  Mr.  Thorn  ?  "  said  Con 
stance.  "  I  have  a  presentiment  that  you  will  find  him  cracking 
nuts  sociably  with  Mr.  Rossitur  or  drinking  one  of  aunt  Lucy's  ex 
cellent  cups  of  coffee — in  comfortable  expectation  of  your  re- 
urn.'5 

"  If  I  thought  that  I  should  stay  here,"  said  Fleda.  "  My  dear, 
aose  were  my  cups  of  coffee  !  " 

"  I  wish  I  could  make  you  think  it  then,"  said  Constance. 

"  But  you  are  glad  to  go  home,  aren't  you,  Fleda,"  said  Florence. 

"She  isn't!"  said  her  sister.  -'She  knows  mamma  content- 
plates  making  a  grand  entertainment  of  all  the  Jews  as  soon  as  she 
is  gone.  What  does  mamma  mean  by  that,  Fleda? — I  observe  you 
comprehend  her  with  most  invariable  quickness." 

"I  should  be  puzzled  to  explain  all  that  your  mother  means," 
said  Fleda  gently,  as  she  went  on  bestowing  her  things  in  the  trunk. 
11  No— I  am  not  particularly  glad  to  go  home — but  I  fancy  it  is 
time.  I  am  afraid  I  have  grown  too  accustomed  to  your  luxury  of 
life  and  want  knocking  about  to  harden  me  a  little." 

"Harden  you!"  Mid  Constance.     "My  dear  Fleda,  you  are 


361 

under  a  delusion.     Why  should  any  one  go  through  an  indurating 
process  ? — will  you  inform  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  say  that  every  one  should,"  said  Fleda, — "  but  isn't  it 
well  for  those  whose  lot  does  not  he  among  soft  things?  " 

There  was  extreme  sweetness  and  a  touching  insinuation  in  hei 
manner,  and  both  the  young  ladies  were  silent  for  some  time  there* 
after,  watching  somewhat  wistfully  the  gentle  hands  and  face  that 
were  so  quietly  busy  ;  till  the  room  was  cleared  again  and  looked 
emarkably  empty  with  Fleda' s  trunk  standing  in  the  middle  of  itc 
:\nd  then  reminding  them  that  she  wanted  some  sleep  to  fit  her  for 
:he  hardening  process  and  must  therefore  send  them  away,  she  was 
ieft  alone. 

One  thing  Fleda  had  put  off  till  then — the  care  of  her  bunch  of 
flowers.  They  were  beautiful  still.  They  had  given  her  a  very 
great  deal  of  pleasure  ;  and  she  was  determined  they  should  be 
left  to  no  servant's  hands  to  be  flung  into  the  street.  If  it  had 
been  summer  she  was  sure  she  could  have  got  buds  from  them  ;  as 
it  was,  perhaps  she  might  strike  some  cuttings  ;  at  all  events  they 
should  go  home  with  her.  So  carefully  taking  them  out  of  th« 
water  and  wrapping  the  eads  in  some  fresh  earth  she  had  got  that 
very  afternoon  from  her  uncle's  garden,  Fleda  bestowed  them  im 
the  corner  of  her  trunk  that  she  had  left  for  them,  and  went  to  bed, 
feeling  weary  in  body,  and  in  mind  to  the  last  degree  quiet. 

In  the  same  mind  and  mood  she  reached  Queechy  the  next 
afternoon.  It  was  a  little  before  January — just  the  same  time  that 
she  had  come  home  last  year.  As  then,  it  was  a  bright  day,  and 
the  country  was  again  covered  thick  with  the  unspotted  snow  ;  but 
Fleda  forgot  to  think  how  bright  and  fresh  it  was.  Somehow  she 
did  not  feel  this  time  quite  so  glad  to  find  herself  there,  fct  had 
never  occurred  to  her  so  strongly  before  that  Queechy  couicf 
anything. 

This  feeling  flew  away  before  the  first  glimpse  of  her  aunt's 
smile,  and  for  half  an  hour  after  Fleda  would  have  certified  that 
Queechy  wanted  nothing.  At  the  end  of  that  time  came  In  Mu 
Rossitur.  His  greeting  of  Charlton  was  sufficiently  unmarked; 
but  eye  and  lip  weakened  when  he  turned  to  Fleda. 

•'  My  dear  child,"  he  said,  holding  her  face  in  both  his  hands,— 

how  lovely  you  have  grown  !  '* 

"  That's  only  because  you  have  forgotten  her,  father,"  said 
.riugh  laughing. 

It  was  a  very  lovely  face  just  then.  Mr.  Rossitur  gazed  into  it  a 
moment  and  again  kissed  first  one  cheek  and  then  the  other,  and 
then  suddenly  withdrew  his  hands  and  turned  away,  with  an  air — 
Fleda  could  not  tell  what  to  make  of  it — an  air  that  struck  her  with 
an  immediate  feeling  of  pain  ;  somewhat  as  if  for  some  cause  or 
other  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  her  or  her  loveliness.  And  she 
needed  not  to  see  him  walk  the  room  for  three  minutes  to  know 
that  Michigan  agencies  had  done  nothing  to  lighten  his  brow  or  un- 
cloud  his  character.  If  this  had  wanted  confirmation  Fleda  would 
have  for.r.c'i  it  in  her  aunt's  face.  She  soon  discovered,  even  in  the 
course  of  the  pleasant  talkative  hours  before  supper,  that  it  was 
not  brightened  as  she  had  cxper.tor!  to  find  it  by  her  uncle's  coming 
home  ;  and  her  ears  now  caught  painfully  the  occasional  long 


£36  Qv&ECHY. 

breath,  but  half  smothered,  which  told  of  a  burden  upon  the  hea; 
but  half  concealed.     Fleda  supposed  that  Mr.  Rossitur's  business 
affairs  at  the  West  must  have  disappointed  him  ;  and  resolved  not 
to  remember  that  Michigan  was  in  the  map  of  North  America. 

Still  they  talked  on,  through  the  afternoon  and  evening,  all  of 
^hem  except  him  ;  he  was  moody  and  silent.  Fleda  felt  the  cloud 
overshadow  sadly  her  own  gayety  ;  but  Mrs.  Rossitur  and  Hugh 
were  accustomed  to  it,  and  Charlton  was  much  too  tall  a  light  to 
come  under  any  external  obscuration  whatever.  He  was  descant 
ing  brilliantly  upon  the  doings  and  prospects  at  Fort  Hamiltor 
sphere  he  was  stationed,  much  to  the  entertainment  of  his  mothei 
and  brother.  Fleda  could  not  listen  to  him  while  his  father  was 
sitting  lost  in  something  not  half  so  pleasant  as  sleep,  in  the  corner 
of  the  sofa.  Her  eyes  watched  him  stealthily  till  she  could  no» 
bear  it  any  longer.  She  resolved  to  bring  the  power  of  her  sun 
beam  to  bear,  and  going  round  seated  herself  on  the  sofa  close  by 
him  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.  He  felt  it  immediately.  The 
arm  was  instantly  drawn  away  to  be  put  round  her  and  Fleda  was 
pressed  nearer  to  his  side,  while  the  other  hand  took  tiers  ;  and 
his  lips  were  again  on  her  forehead. 

"  And  how  do  you  like  me  for  a  farmer,  uncle  Rolf?  "  she  said 
looking  up  at  him  laughingly,  and  then  fearing  immediately  that 
she  had  chosen  her  subject  ill.  Not  from  any  change  in  his  coun 
tenance  however, — that  decidedly  brightened  up.  He  did  no*  an 
swer  at  once. 

"My  child — you  make  me  ashamed  of  mankind  !  " 

"  Of  the  dominant  half  of  them,  sir,  do  you  mean  ?"  said  Chart- 
ton, — "  or  is  your  observation  a  sweeping  one  ?  " 

"It  would  sweep  the  greatest  part  of  the  world  into  the  back 
ground,  sir,"  answered  his  father  dryly,  "  if  its  sense  were  the 
general  rule.'' 

"  And  what  has  Fleda  done  to  be  such  a  besom  of  desolation  ?  * 

Fleda's  laugh  set  everybody  else  a  going,  and  there  was  imme 
diately  more  life  and  common  feeling  in  the  society  than  had  been 
all  day.  They  all  seemed  willing  to  shake  off  a  weight,  and  even 
Fleda,  in  the  endeavor  to  chase  the  gloom  that  hung  over  others, 
55  it  had  often  happened,  lost  half  of  her  own. 

"  But  still  "I  am  not  answered,"  said  Charlton  when  they  were 
grave  again.  "  What  has  Fleda  done  to  put  such  a  libel  upor 
mankind  ? " 

"You  should  call  it  a  label,  as  Dr.  Quackenboss  does,"  said 
Fleda  in  a  fresh  burst, — "he  says  he  never  would  stand  being. 
labelled  !  "— 

"But  come  back  to  the  point,"  said  Charlton,—"!  want  to 
know  what  is  the  label  in  this  case,  that  Fleda's  doings  put  upon 
Ihose  of  other  people?  " 

"  Insignificance,"  said  his  father  dryly. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how  bestowed,"  said  Charlton. 

"Don't  enlighten  him,  uncle  Rolf,"  said  Fleda  laughing, — "  let 
my  doings  remain  in  safe  obscurity, — please  !  " 

"  I  stand  as  a  representative  of  mankind,"  said  Chariton,  "  and 
I  demand  an  explanation." 

"  Look  at  what  this  slight  frame  and  delicate  nerves  have  been 


QUEECHT.  367 

found  equal  tc,  and  then  tell  me  if  the  broad  shoulders  of  all  your 
mess  would  have  borne  half  the  burden  or  their  united  heads  ac 
complished  a  quarter  the  results." 

He  spoke  with  sufficient  depth  of  meaning,  though  now  with  no 
unpleasant  expression.  But  Charlton  notwithstanding  rather  gath 
ered  himself  up. 

"  O  uncle  Rolf,"  said  Fleda  gently,—"  nerves  and  muscles 
haven't  much  to  do  with  it — after  all  you  know  I  have  just  served 
the  place  of  a  mouth-piece.  Seth  was  the  head,  and  good  Earl 
Douglass  the  hand." 

"I  am  ashamed  of  myself  and  of  mankind,"  Mr.  Rossitur  re 
peated,  "  when  I  see  what  mere  weakness  can  do,  and  how  proudly 
valueless  strength  is  contended  to  be.  You  are  looking,  Capt. 
Rossitur, — but  after  all  a  cap  and  plume  really  makes  a  man  taller 
only  to  the  eye." 

"  When  I  have  flung  my  plume  in  anybody's  face,  sir,"  said 
Charlton  rather  hotly,  "it  will  be  time  enough  to  throw  it  back 
again." 

Mrs.  Rossitur  put  her  hand  on  his  arm  and  looked  her  remon 
strance. 

"Are  you  glad  to  be  home  again,  dear  Fleda?"  she  said  turning 
to  her. 

But  Fleda  was  making  some  smiling  communications  to  her 
uncle  and  did  not  seem  to  hear. 

"  Fleda — does  it  seem  pleasant  to  be  here  again  ?  " 

"Very  pleasant,  dear  aunt  Lucy — though  I  have  had  a  very 
pleasant  visit  too." 

"  On  the  whole  you  do  not  wish  you  were  at  this  moment  driving 
out  of  town  in  Mr.  Thorn's  cabriolet? "  said  her  cousin. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  Fleda  coolly.  "  How  did  you  know  I 
ever  did  such  a  thing  ?  " 

"  I  wonder  what  should  bring  Mr.  Thorn  to  Queechy  at  this  time 
of  year,"  said  Hugh. 

Fleda  started  at  this  confirmation  of  Constance's  words  ;  and 
what  was  very  odd,  she  could  not  get  rid  of  the  impression  that 
Mr.  Rossitur  had  started  too.  Perhaps  it  was  only  her  own  nerves, 
but  he  had  certainly  taken  away  the  arm  that  was  round  her. 

"  I  suppose  he  has  followed  Miss  Ringgan,"  said  Charlton 
gravely. 

"  No,"  said  Hugh,  "  he  has  been  here  some  little  time." 

"  Then  he  preceded  her,  I  suppose,  to  see  and  get  the  sleighs  in 
order." 

"  He  did  not  know  I  was  coming,"  said  Fleda. 

"Didn't!  " 

'<  No — I  have  not  seen  him  for  several  days." 

"  My  dear  little  cousin,"  said  Charlton  laughing, — "you  are  net 
a  witch  in  your  own  affairs,  whatever  you  may  be  in  those  of  other 
people." 

"  Why,  Charlton  ?" 

"You  are  no  adept  in  the  art  of  concealment." 

11  I  have  nothing  to  conceal,"  said  Fleda.  "  How  do  you  know 
he  is  here,  Hu^h?" 

"  I  WM  anxiously  asked  the  other  day/'  said  Hugh  with  a  slight 


S68  qUEECHY. 

smile,  "whether  you  had  come  home;  and  then  told  thai  Mr. 
Thorn  was  in  Queechy.  There  is  no  mistake  about  it,  for  my  in' 
formant  had  actually  seen  him,  and  given  him  the  direction  to  Mr, 
Plumfield's,  for  which  he  was  inquiring." 

"  The  direction  to  Mr.  Plumfield's  !  "  said  Fleda. 

"What's  your  old  friend  Mr.  Carleton  doing  in  New  York ?" 
said  Charlton. 

"  Is  he  there  still?  "  said  Mrs.  Rossitur. 

"  Large  as  life,"  answered  her  son. 

"  Which,  though  you  might  not  suppose  it,  aunt  Lucy,  is  abou 
Jhe  height  of  Capt.  Rossitur,  with — I  should  judge — a  trifle  les. 
weight." 

"  Your  eyes  are  observant !  "  said  Charlton. 

"  Of  a  good  many  things,"  said  Fleda  lightly. 

"  He  is  not  my  height  by  half  an  inch,"  said  Charlton  ; — "  I  am 
just  six  feet  without  my  boots." 

"  An  excellent  height !  "  said  Fleda, — "  '  your  six  feet  was  ever 
the  only  height.'  ' 

"  Who  said  that  ?  "  said  Charlton. 

"  Isn't  it  enough  that  I  say  it  ?  " 

"  What's  he  staying  here  for  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  really,"  said  Fleda.  "It's  very  difficult  to  te? 
what  people  do  things  for." 

"  Have  you  seen  much  of  him?  "  said  Mrs.  Rossitur. 

"  Yes  ma'am — a  good  deal — he  was  often  at  Mrs.  Evelyn's." 

"  Is  he  going  to  marry  one  of  her  daughters?  " 

"Oh  no!"  said  Fleda  smiling, — "he  isn't  thinking  of  such  a 
thing  ; — not  in  America — I  don't  know  what  he  may  do  in  En 
gland." 

"  No  !  "  said  Charlton, — "  I  suppose  he  would  think  himself  con 
taminated  by  matching  with  any  blood  in  this  hemisphere." 

"You  do  him  injustice,"  said  Fleda,  coloring; — "you  do  not 
know  him,  Charlton." 

"  You  do?" 

"  Much  better  than  that." 

"  And  he  is  not  one  of  the  most  touch-me-not  pieces  of  English 
birth  and  wealth  that  ever  stood  upon  their  own  dignity  ?  " 

"Not  at  all!"  said  Fleda; — "how  people  may  be  misunder 
stood ! — he  is  one  of  the  most  gentle  and  kind  persons  I  ever  saw/ 

"To  you  !  " 

"To  everybody  that  deserves  it." 

"  Humph  ! — And  not  proud  ?  " 

"  No,  not  as  you  understand  it," — and  she  felt  it  was  very  diffi« 
cult  to  make  him  understand  it,  as  the  discovery  involved  a  very 
offensive  implication  ; — "  he  is  too  fine  a  character  to  be  proud." 

"That  is  arguing  in  a  circle  with  a  vengeance  !  "  said  Charlton. 

"  I  know  what  you  are  thinking  of,"  said  Fleda,  "  and  I  suppose 
it  passes  for  pride  with  a  great  many  people  who  cannot  compre 
hend  it — he  has  a  singular  power  of  quietly  rebuking  wrong,  and 
keeping  impertinence  at  a  distance — where  Capt.  Rossitur,  for  in 
stance,  I  suppose,  would  throw  his  cap  in  a  man's  face,  Mr  Carte- 
Ion' s  mere  silence  would  make  the  offender  doff  his  and  ask  pac« 


QUEECHY.  389 

The  manner  in  which  this  was  said  precluded  all  taking  o£ 
fence. 

"  Well,"  said  Charlton  shrugging  his  shoulder, — Cc  then  I  don't 
know  what  pride  is — that's  all !  " 

"Take  care,  Capt.  Rossitur,"  said  Fleda  laughing, — "I  have 
heard  of  such  a  thing  as  American  pride  before  now." 

"  Certainly  !  "  said  Charlton,  "  and  I'm  quite  willing — but  it  never 
reaches  quite  such  a  towering  height  on  our  side  the  water.' 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  how  that  may  be,"  said  Fleda,  <i  but  I 
••iow  I  have  heard  a  lady,  an  enlightened,  gentle-tempered  Amer* 
.an  lady,  so  called, — I  have  heard  her  talk  to  a  poor  Irish  woman 
ivith  whom  she  had  nothing  in  the  world  to  do,  in  a  style  thai 
moved  my  indignation — it  stirred  my  blood  3 — and  there  was  noth 
ing  whatever  to  call  it  out.  *  All  the  blood  of  all  the  Howards/  I 
hope  would  not  have  disgraced  itself  so." 

"  What  business  have  you  to  '  hope '  anything  about  it?" 

"  None — except  from  the  natural  desire  to  find  what  one  has  a 
right  to  look  for.  But  indeed  I  wouldn't  take  the  blood  of  all  the 
Howards  for  any  security — pride  as  well  as  high-breeding  is  a 
thing  of  natural  not  adventitious  growth — it  belongs  to  character, 
not  circumstance." 

"  Do  you  know  that  your  favorite  Mr.  Carleton  is  nearly  con 
nected  with  those  same  Howards,  and  quarters  their  arms  with  his 
own  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  very  vague  idea  of  the  dignity  implied  in  that  expres 
sion  of  '  quartering  arms,'  which  comes  so  roundly  out  of  your 
mouth,  Charlton,"  said  Fleda  laughing.  "  No,  I  didn't  know  it. 
But  in  general  I  am  apt  to  think  that  pride  is  a  thing  which  re° 
verses  the  usual  rules  of  architecture,  and  builds  highest  on  the  nar 
rowest  foundations." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Never  mind,"  said  Fleda, — "if  a  meaning  isn't  plain  it  isn't 
worth  looking  after.  But  it  will  not  do  to  measure  pride  by  its  sup 
posed  materials.  It  does  not  depend  on  them  but  on  the  individual. 
You  everywhere  see  people  assert  that  most  of  which  they  feel  least 
sure,  and  then  it  is  easy  for  them  to  conclude  that  where  there  is  so 
much  more  of  the  reality  there  must  be  proportionably  more  of  the 
assertion.  I  wish  some  of  our  gentlemen,  and  ladies,  who  talk  of 
pride  where  they  see  and  can  see  nothing  but  the  habit  of  wealth- 
wish  they  could  see  the  universal  politeness  with  which  Mr.  Carle< 
i'on  returns  the  salutes  of  his  inferiors.  Not  more  respectfully  they 
dift  their  hats  to  him  than  he  lifts  his  to  them — unless  when  hi 
speaks." 

"  You  have  seen  it?" 

"  Often." 

"Where?" 

"In  England — at  his  own  place — among  his  own  servants  and 
dependents.  I  remember  very  well — it  struck  even  my  childish 
eyes." 

"  Well,  after  all,  that  is  nothing  still  but  a  refined  kind  of 
haughtiness." 

••  It  is  a  kind  that  I  wish  some  of  our  Americans  would  copy/' 
Fleda. 


370  QUEECHY. 

"But  dear  Fleda,"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur,  •'  all  Americans  are  not 
like  that  lady  you  were  talking  of— it  would  be  very  unfair  to  make 
her  a  sample.  I  don't  think  I  ever  heard  any  one  speak  so  in  my 
life — you  never  heard  me  speak  so." 

"  Dear  aunt  Lucy  ! — no, — I  was  only  giving  instance  for  instance. 
I  have  no  idea  that  Mr.  Carleton  is  a  type  of  Englishmen  in  general 
— I  wish  he  were.  But  I  think  it  is  the  very  people  that  cry  out 
against  superiority,  who  are  the  most  happy  to  assert  their  ow» 
where  they  can  ;  the  same  jealous  feeling  that  repines  on  the  one 
hand,  revenges  itself  on  the  other." 

"  Superiority  of  what  kind  ?  "  said  Charlton  stiffly. 

"Of  any  kind — superiority  of  wealth,  or  refinement,  or  name,  or 
standing.  Now  it  does  not  follow  that  an  Englishman  is  proud  be 
cause  he  keeps  liveried  servants,  and  it  by  no  means  follows  that 
an  American  lacks  the  essence  of  haughtiness  because  he  finds 
fault  with  him  for  doing  so." 

"  I  dare  say  some  of  our  neighbors  think  we  are  proud,"  said 
Hugh,  "  because  we  use  silver  forks  instead  of  steel." 

"  Because  we're  too  good  for  steel  forks,  you  ought  to  say,"  said 
Fleda.  "  I  am  sure  they  think  so.  I  have  been  given  to  under 
stand  as  much.  Barby,  I  believe,  has  a  good  opinion  of  us  and 
charitably  concludes  that  we  mean  right  ;  but  some  other  of  our 
country  friends  would  think  I  was  far  gone  in  uppishness  if  they 
knew  that  I  never  touch  fish  with  a  steel  knife  ;  and  it  wouldn't 
mend  the  matter  much  to  tell  them  that  the  combination  of  flavors 
is  disagreeable  to  me — it  hardly  suits  the  doctrine  of  liberty  and 
equality  that  my  palate  should  be  so  much  nicer  than  theirs." 

"  Absurd  !  "  said  Charlton. 

"Very,"  said  Fleda;  "but  on  which  side,  in  all  probability,  is 
the  pride?  " 

"  It  wasn't  for  liveried  servants  that  I  charged  Mr.  Carleton," 
said  her  cousin.,  "  How  do  the  Evelyns  like  this  paragon  of 
yours?" 

"  O  everybody  likes  him,"  said  Fleda  smiling, — "  except  you  and 
your  friend  Mr.  Thorn." 

"Thorn  don't  like  him,  eh?  " 

"I  think  not." 

"  What  do  you  suppose  is  the  reason?  "  said  Charlton  gravely. 

"  I  don't  think  Mr.  Thorn  is  particularly  apt  to  like  anybody, * 
said  Fleda,  who  knew  very  well  the  original  cause  of  both  excep 
tions  but  did  not  like  to  advert  to  it. 

"Apparently  you  don't  like  Mr.  Thorn?"  said  Mr.  Rossitur, 
speaking  for  the  first  time. 

"  I  don't  know  who  does,  sir,  much, — except  his  mother." 

"  What  is  he?" 

"  A  man  not  wanting  in  parts,  sir,  and  with  considerable  force  of 
character, — but  I  am  afraid  more  for  ill  than  for  good.  I  should  be 
very  sorry  to  trust  him  with  anything  dear  to  me." 

"  How  long  were  you  in  forming  that  opinion?"  said  Charlton 
looking  at  her  curiously. 

"  It  was  formed,  substantially,  the  first  evening  I  saw  him,  and  1 
never  seen  cause  to  alter  it  since." 

The  several  members  of  the  family  therewith  fell  into  a  geaeral 


QUEECHY.  371 

muse,  with  the  single  exception  ef  Hugh,  whose  eyes  and  thoughts 
seemed  to  be  occupied  with  Fleda's  living  presence.  Mr.  Rossitur 
then  requested  that  breakfast  might  b«  ready  very  early — at  six 
o'clock. 

"  Six  o'clock !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Rossitur. 

"  I  have  to  take  a  long  ride,  on  business,  which  must  be  done 
•arly  in  the  day." 

"  When  will  you  be  back  ?  " 

"Not  before  night-fall." 

"  But  going  on  another  business  journey  !  "  said  Mrs.  Rossiturc 
J  You  have  but  just  these  few  hours  come  home  from  one." 

"  Cannot  breakfast  be  ready  ?  " 

"Yes,  uncle  Rolf,"  said  Fleda  bringing  her  bright  face  before 
him, — "ready  at  half-past  five  if  you  like — now  that  /am  to  the 
fore  you  know." 

He  clasped  her  to  his  breast  and  kissed  her  again  ;  but  with  a 
face  so  very  grave  that  Fleda  was  glad  nobody  else  saw  it. 

Then  Charlton  went,  averring  that  he  wanted  at  least  a  night  and 
a  half  of  sleep  between  two  such  journeys  as  the  one  of  that  day 
and  the  one  before  him  on  the  next, — especially  as  he  must  resign 
himself  to  going  without  anything  to  eat.  Him  also  Fleda  laugh 
ingly  promised  that  precisely  half  an  hour  before  the  stage  time  * 
cup  of  coffee  and  a  roll  should  be  smoking  on  the  table,  with  what 
ever  substantial  appendages  might  be  within  the  bounds  of  possi 
bility,  or  the  house. 

"  I  will  pay  you  for  that  beforehand  with  a  kiss,"  said  he. 

"  You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Fleda  stepping  back  ; — 
"  a  kiss  is  a  favor  taken,  not  given  ;  and  I  am  entirely  ignorant 
what  you  have  done  to  deserve  it." 

"  You  make  a  curious  difference  between  me  and  Hugh,"  said 
Charlton,  half  in  jest,  half  in  earnest. 

"  Hugh  is  my  brother,  Capt.  Rossitur,"  said  Fleda  smiling, — 
"  and  that  is  an  honor  you  never  made  any  pretensions  to." 

"Come,  you  shall  not  say  that  any  more,"  said  he,  taking  the 
kiss  that  Fleda  had  no  mind  to  give  him. 

Half  laughing,  but  with  eyes  that  were  all  too  ready  for  some- 
Ihing  else,  she  turned  again  to  Hugh  when  his  brother  had  left  the 
room  and  looked  wistfully  in  his  face,  stroking  back  the  hair  from 
his  temples  with  a  caressing  hand. 

"  You  are  just  as  you  were  when  I  left  you  ! — "  she  said,  with  lips 
Jiat  seemed  too  unsteady  to  say  more,  and  remained  parted. 

"I  am  afraid  so  are  you,"  he  replied  ;— "not  a  bit  fatter.  I  hoped 
you  would  be." 

"  What  have  you  been  smiling  at  so  this  evening?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  how  well  you  talked." 

"Why  Hugh  !— You  should  have  helped  me— I  talked  too 
much." 

*'  I  would  much  rather  listen,"  said  Hugh.  "  Dear  Fleda,  what 
a  different  thing  the  house  is  with  you  in  it !  " 

Fleda  said  nothing,  except  an  inexplicable  little  shake  of  her 
hand  which  said  a  great  many  things  ;  and  then  she  and  her  aunt 
were  left  alone.  Mrs.  Rossitur  drew  her  to  her  bosom  with  a  look 


S72  QUEECHY. 

so  exceedingly  fond  that  its  sadness  was  hardly  discernible.  It  wai 
mingled  however  with  an  expression  of  some  doubt. 

IS  Wriat  has  made  you  keep  so  thin  ?  " 

-'  I  have  been  very  well,  aunt  Lucy, — thinness  agrees  with  me.'* 

c{  Are  you  glad  to  be  home  again,  dear  Fleda?  " 

"  I  am  rery  glad  to  be  with  you,  dear  aunt  Lucy  !  " 

"  But  not  glad  to  be  home  ?  " 

"  Yes  I  am,"  said  Fleda, — "  but  somehow — I  don't  know — I  be- 
'ieve  I  have  got  a  little  spoiled — it  is  time  I  was  at  home  I  am  sure- 
—I  shall  be  quite  glad  after  a  day  or  two,  when  I  have  got  into  the 
.vorks  again.  I  am  glad  now,  aunt  Lucy." 

Mrs.  Rossitur  seemed  unsatisfied,  and  stroked  the  hair  from 
Fleda's  forehead  with  an  absent  look. 

"  What  was  there  in  New  York  that  you  were  so  sorry  to  leave  ?  " 

"Nothing,  ma'am,  in  particular," — said  Fleda  brightly, — "and 
I  am  not  sorry,  aunt  Lucy — I  tell  you  I  am  a  little  spoiled  with  com 
pany  and  easy  living — I  am  glad  to  be  with  you  again." 

Mrs.  Rossitur  was  silent. 

"Don't  you  get  up  to  uncle  Rolfs  breakfast  to-morrow,  auat 
Lucy." 

11  Nor  you." 

"  I  sha'n't  unless  I  want  to — but  there'll  be  nothing  for  you  to  do, 
and  you  must  just  lie  still.  We  will  all  have  our  breakfast  together 
when  Charlton  has  his." 

"  You  are  the  variest  sunbeam  that  ever  came  into  a  house,"  said 
her  aunt  kissing  her 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

My  flagging  soul  flies  under  her  own  pitch. 

DRYDEN. 

FLEDA  mused  as  she  went  up-stairs  \vhether  the  sun  were  a  lumin 
ous  body  to  himself  or  no,  feeling  herself  at  that  moment  dull 
enough.  Bright,  was  she,  to  others  ?  nothing  seemed  bright  to  her. 
Every  old  shadow  was  darker  than  ever.  Her  uncle's  unchanged 
gloom, — her  aunt's  unrested  face, — Hugh's  unaltered  delicate  sweet 
jook,  which  always  to  her  fancy  seemed  to  write  upon  his  face,, 
-'Passing  away!" — and  the  thickening  prospects  whence  sprang 
>he  miasm  that  infected  the  whole  moral  atmosphere — alas,  yes  ! — 
:t  Money  ie  a  good  thing,"  thought  Fleda  ; — "  and  poverty  need  not 
be  a  bad  thing,  if  people  can  take  it  right ; — but  if  they  take  it 
wrong  ! — " 

With  a  very  drooping  heart  indeed  she  went  to  the  window.  Her 
old  childish  habit  had  never  been  forgotten  ;  whenever  the  moon  or 
the  stars  were  abroad  Fleda  rarely  failed  to  have  a  talk  with  them 
from  her  window.  She  stood  there  now,  looking  out  into  the  cold 
still  night,  with  eyes  just  dimmed  with  tears — not  that  she  lacked 
sadness  enough,  but  she  did  lack  spirit  enough  to  cry.  It  was  very 
still  ; — after  the  rattle  and  confusion  of  the  city  streets,  that  extend 
of  snow-covered  country  where  the  very  shadows  were  motionless 
—the  entire  aosence  of  soil  and  of  disturbance--  the  rest  of  nature 
— the  breaUilessness  of  the  very  wir»<i — all  preached  a  quaint  kind 


QUEECHY.  ^71 

of  sermon  to  Fleda.  By  the  force  of  contrast  they  told  her  what 
should  be  ; — and  there  was  more  yet, — she  thought  that  by  the  force 
of  example  they  showed  what  might  be.  Her  eyes  had  not  long 
traveled  over  the  familiar  old  fields  and  fences  before  she  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  she  was  home  in  good  time, — she  thought  she 
had  been  growing  selfish,  or  in  danger  of  it ;  and  she  made  up  her 
mind  she  was  glad  to  be  back  again  among  the  rough  things  of  life, 
where  she  could  do  so  much  to  smooth  them  for  others  and  her  own 
spirit  might  grow  to  a  polish  it  would  never  gain  in  the  regions  of 
sase  and  pleasure.  "  To  do  life's  work  !  "• — thought  Fleda  clasping 
her  hands, — "  no  matter  where — and  mine  is  here.  I  am  glad  I  am 
in  my  place  again — I  was  forgetting  I  had  one." 

It  was  a  face  of  strange  purity  and  gravity  that  the  moon  shone 
upon,  with  no  power  to  brighten  as  in  past  days  ;  the  shadows  of  life 
were  upon  the  child's  brow.  But  nothing  to  brighten  it  from  within  ? 
One  sweet  strong  ray  of  other  light  suddenly  found  its  way  through 
the  shadows  and  entered  her  heart.  "The  Lord  reigneth  !  let  the 
earth  be  glad!" — and  then  the  moonbeams  pouring  down  with 
equal  ray  upon  all  the  unevennesses  of  this  little  world  seemed  to 
say  the  same  thing  over  and  over.  Even  so  !  Not  less  equally  his 
providence  touches  all, — not  less  impartially  his  faithful  ness  guides. 
"  The  Lord  reigneth  !  let  the  earth  be  glad  !  "  There  was  bright 
ness  in  the  moonbeams  now  that  Fleda  could  read  this  in  them  ; 
she  went  to  sleep,  a  very  child  again,  with  these  word  for  her  pil 
low. 

It  was  not  six,  and  darkness  yet  filled  the  world,  when  Mr* 
Rossitur  came  down  stairs  and  softly  opened  the  sitting-room  door. 
But  the  home  fairy  had  been  at  work ;  he  was  greeted  with  such  9. 
blaze  of  cheerfulness  as  seemed  to  say  what  a  dark  place  the  work! 
was  everywhere  but  at  home;  his  breakfast-table  was  standing 
ready  well  set  and  well  supplied  ;  and  even  as  he  entered  by  one 
door  Fleda  pushed  open  the  other  and  came  in  from  the  kitchen, 
looking  as  if  she  had  some  strange  spirit-like  kindred  with  the 
cheery  hearty  glow  which  filled  both  rooms. 

41  Fleda  ! — you  up  at  this  hour  !  " 

"  Yes,  uncle  Rolf,"  she  said  coming  forward  to  put  her  hands 
upon  his, — "  you  are  not  sorry  to  see  me,  I  hope." 

But  he  did  not  say  he  was  glad  ;  and  he  did  not  speak  at  all  ;  he 
'jusied  himself  gravely  with  some  little  matters  of  preparation  for 
lis  journey.  Evidently  the  gloom  of  last  night  was  upon  him  yet. 
But  Fleda  had  not  wrought  for  praise,  and  could  work  without  en 
couragement ;  neither  step  nor  hand  slackened,  till  all  she  and 
Barby  had  made  ready  was  in  nice  order  on  the  table  and  she  was 
pouring  out  a  cup  of  smoking  coffee. 

"You  are  not  fit  to  be  up,"  said  Mr.  Rossitur,  looking  at  her, 
• — "  you  are  pale  now.  £ut  yourself  in  that  arm  chair,  Fleda,  and 
go  to  sleep — I  will  do  this  for  myself." 

"  No  indeed,  uncle  Rolf,"  she  answered  brightly, — "I  have  en 
joyed  getting  breakfast  very  much  at  this  out-of-the-way  hour,  and 
now  [  am  going  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  eat  it.  Sup 
pose  you  were  to  take  a  cup  of  coffee  instead  of  my  shoulder." 

He  took  it  and  sat  down,  but  Fleda  found  that  the  rjleasure  of 
seeing  him  was  to  be  a  very  qualified  thing.  He  eat  hke  a  busi« 


374  QUEECHY. 

ness  man,  in  unbrokan  silence  and  gravity  ;  and  her  cheerful  words 
and  looks  got  no  return.  It  became  an  effort  at  length  to  keep 
either  brigkt.  Mr.  Rossitur's  sole  remarks  during  breakfast  were 
to  ask  if  Charlton  was  going  back  that  day,  and  if  Philetus  was  get 
ting  the  horse  ready. 

Mr.  Skillcorn  had  been  called  in  good  time  by  Barby  at  Fleda's 
suggestion,  and  coming  down-stairs  had  opined  discontentedly  that 
''a  mran  hadn't  no  right  to  be  took  out  of  bed  in  the  morning  afore 
.he  could  see  himself."  But  this,  and  Barby 's  spirited  reply,  that 
c  there  was  no  chance  of  his  doing  that  at  any  time  of  day,  so  it 
was  no  use  to  wait," — Fleda  did  not  repeat.  Her  uncle  was  in  no 
humor  to  be  amused. 

She  expected  almost  that  he  would  go  off  without  speaking  to  her. 
But  he  came  up  kindly  to  where  she  stood  watching  him. 

"  You  must  bid  me  good-bye  for  all  the  family,  uncle  Rolf,  as  I 
I  am  the  only  one  here,"  she  said  laughing. 

But  she  was  sure  that  the  embrace  and  kiss  which  followed 
were  very  exclusively  for  her.  They  made  her  face  almost  as  sober 
as  his  own. 

"There  will  be  a  blessing  for  you,"  said  he, — "  if  there  is  a 
blessing  anywhere !  " 

"  If  uncle  Rolf!  "  said  Fleda,  her  heart  swelling  to  her  eyes. 

He  turned  away  without  answering  her. 

Fleda  sat  down  in  the  easy  chair  then  and  cried.  But  that  lasted 
very  few  minutes  ;  she  soon  left  crying  for  herself  to  pray  for  him, 
that  he  might  have  the  blessing  he  did  not  know.  That  did  not 
stop  tears.  She  remembered  the  poor  man  sick  of  the  palsy  who 
was  brought  in  by  friends  to  be  healed,  and  that  "Jesus  seeing 
their  faith,  said  unto  the  sick  of  the  palsy,  '  Son,  thy  sins  be  forgiven 
thee.'  "  It  was  a  handle  that  faith  took  hold  of  and  held  fast  while 
love  made  its  petition.  It  was  all  she  could  do,  she  thought ;  she 
never  could  venture  to  speak  to  her  uncle  on  the  subject. 

Weary  and  tired,  tears  and  longing  at  length  lost  themselves  in 
sleep.  When  she  awaked  she  found  the  daylight  broadly  come, 
little  King  in  her  lap,  the  fire,  instead  of  being  burnt  out,  in  per- 
feet  preservation,  and  Barby  standing  before  it  and  looking  at  her. 

"  You  ha'n't  got  one  speck  o*  good  by  this  journey  to  New  York," 
was  Miss  Elster's  vexed  salutation. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  said  Fleda  rousing  herself,  "/wouldn't 
venture  to  say  as  much  as  that,  Barby." 

"  If  you  have,  'tain't  in  your  cheeks,"  said  Barby  decidedly. 
"  You  look  just  as  you  was  made  of  anything  that  wouldn't  stand 
wear,  and  that  isn't  the  way  you  used  to  look." 

••  I  have  been  up  a  good  while  without  breakfast — my  cheeks 
will  be  a  better  color  when  I  have  had  that,  Barby— they  feel  pale." 

The  second  breakfast  was  a  cheerfuller  thing.  But  when  the 
second  traveler  was  despatched,  and  the  rest  fell  back  upon  their 
old  numbers,  Fleda  was  very  quiet  again.  It  vexed  her  to  be  so, 
but  she  could  not  change  her  mood.  She  felt  as  if  she  had  been 
•vhirled  along  in  a  dream  and  was  now  just  opening  her  eyes  to 
Daylight  and  reality.  And  reality — she  could  not  help  it — looked 
rather  dull  after  dreamland.  She  thought  it  was  very  well  she  was 
waked  up ;  but  it  cost  hei  some  effort  to  appear  so.  And  then  shi 


QUEECHY.  376 

charged  herself  with  ingratitude,  her  aunt  and  Hugh  were  so  ex 
ceedingly  happy  in  her  company. 

"  Earl  Douglass  is  quite  delighted  with  the  clover  hay,  Fleda,' 
said  Hugh,  as  the  three  sat  at  an  early  dinner. 

"Is  he?"  said  Fleda. 

"  Yes,— you  know  he  was  very  unwilling  to  cure  it  in  your  way-* 
and  he  thinks  there  never  was  anything  like  it  now." 

"  Did  youever  see  finer  ham,  Pleda  ?  "  inquired  her  aunt.  "  Mr, 
Plumfield  says  it  could  not  be  better." 

"Very  good!"  said  Fleda,  whose  thoughts  had  somehow  got 
upon  Mr.  Carleton's  notions  about  female  education  and  were  very 
busy  with  them. 

"  I  expected  you  would  have  remarked  upon  our  potatoes,  bt- 
fore  now,"  said  Hugh.  "  These  are  the  Elephants — have  you  seen 
anything  like  them  in  New  York?  " 

"  There  cannot  be  more  beautiful  potatoes,"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur. 
"  We  had  not  tried  any  of  them  before  you  went  away,  Fleda, 
had  we  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  aunt  Lucy  ! — no,  I  think  not." 

"  You  needn't  talk  to  Fleda,  mother,"  said  Hugh  xaughing, — 
"  she  is  quite  beyond  attending  to  all  such  ordinary  matters — her 
thoughts  have  learned  to  take  a  higher  flight  since  she  has  been  in 
New  York." 

"It  is  time  they  were  brought  down  then,"  said  Fleda  smiling  ; 
"  but  they  have  not  learned  to  fly  out  of  sight  of  home,  Hugh." 

"Where  were  they,  dear  Fleda  ?  "  said  her  aunt. 

"  I  was  thinking  a  minute  ago  of  something  I  heard  talked  about 
i*»  New  York,  aunt  Lucy  ;  and  afterward  I  was  trying  to  find  out  by 
what  possible  or  imaginable  road  I  had  got  round  to  it." 

"  Could  you  tell  ?  " 

Fleda  said  no,  and  tried  to  bear  her  part  in  the  conversation. 
But  she  did  not  know  whether  to  blame  the  subjects  which  had  been 
brought  forward,  or  herself,  for  her  utter  want  of  interest  in  them. 
She  went  into  the  kitchen  feeling  dissatisfied  with  both. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  potatoes  that  would  beat  them  Elephant*?" 
said  Barby. 

"  Never,  certainly,"  said  Fleda  with  a  most  involuntary  smile. 

"I  never  did,"  said  Barby.  "They  beat  all,  for  bigness  and 
goodness  both.  I  can't  keep  'em  together.  There's  thousands  of 
'em,  and  I  mean  to  make  Philetus  eat  'em  for  supper — such  pota 
toes  and  milk  is  good  enough  for  him,  or  anybody.  The  cow  has 
gained  on  her  milk  wonderful,  Fleda,  since  she  begun  to  have  them 
roots  fed  out  to  her." 

"  Which  cow?"  said  Fleda. 

"Which  cow? — why — the  blue  cow — there  ain't  none  of  the 
others  that's  giving  any,  to  speak  of,"  said  Barby  looking  at  her. 
"  Don't  you  know, — the  cow  you  said  them  carrots  should  be  kept 
for  ?  " 

Fleda  half  laughed,  as  there  began  to  rise  up  before  her  the 
various  magazines  of  vegetables,  grain,  hay,  and  fodder,  that 
for  many  weeks  had  been  deliciously  distant  from  her  imagina 
tion. 

••  I  made  butter  for  four  weeks,  I  guess,  after  you  went  away," 


576  QUEECHY. 

Barby  went  on; — "just  come  in  here  and  see — and  the  carr«4§ 
makes  it  as  yellow  and  sweet  as  June — I  churned  as  long  as  I  had 
anything  to  churn,  and  longer ;  and  now  we  live  on  cream — you 
can  make  some  cheesecakes  just  as  soon  as  you're  a  mind  to, — 
see!  ain't  that  doing  pretty  well? — and  fine  it  is, — put  your  nose 
down  to  it — " 

"  Bravely,  Barby — and  it  is  very  sweet." 

"  You  ha'n't  left  nothing  behind  you  in  New  York,  have  youi?  " 
8aid  Barby  when  they  returned  to  the  kitchen. 

"  Left  anything  !  no, — what  do  you  think  I  have  left  ?" 

"  I  didn't  know  but  you  might  have  forgotten  to  pack  up  yom 
Knemory,"  said  Barby  dryly. 

Fleda  laughed  ;  and  then  in  walked  Mr.  Douglass. 

"  How  d'ye  do  ?  "  said  he.  "  Got  back  again.  I  heerd  you  was 
hum,  and  so  I  thought  I'd  just  step  up  and  see.  Been  getting  along 
pretty  well?" 

Fleda  answered,  smiling  internally  at  the  wide  distance  between 
her  "  getting  along  "  and  his  idea  of  it. 

"Well  the  hay's  first-rate!"  said  Earl,  taking  off  his  hat  and 
sitting  down  in  the  nearest  chair; — "  I've  been  feedin'  it  out,  now, 
for  a  good  spell,  and  I  know  what  to  think  about  it.  We've  been 
feedin'  it  out  ever  since  some  time  this  side  o'  the  middle  o'  No 
vember  ; — I  never  see  nothin'  sweeter,  and  I  don't  want  to  see 
nothin'  sweeter  than  it  is  I  and  the  cattle  eats  it  like  May  roses — 
they  don't  know  how  to  thank  you  enough  for  it." 

"  To  thank  you,  Mr.  Douglass,"  said  Fleda  smiling. 

"  No,"  said  he  in  a  decided  manner, — "  I  don't  want  no  thanks 
for  it,  and  I  don't  deserve  none  !  'Twa'n't  thanks  to  none  of  my 
foresightedness  that  the  clover  wa'n't  served  the  old  way.  I  didn  t 
Lke  new  notions — and  I  never  did  like  new  notions !  and  I  never 
•^  much  good  of  'em  ; — but  I  suppose  there's  some  on  'em  that 
;•  t  moonshine — my  woman  says  there  is,  and  I  suppose  there  is, 

.  after  this  clover  hay  I'm  willing  to  allow  that  there  is !  It's  as 
sv-'eet  as  a  posie  if  you  smell  to  it, — and  all  of  it's  cured  alike  ;  and 
1  .hink,  Fleda,  there's  a  quarter  more  weight  of  it.  I  ha'n't  proved 
.1  nor  weighed  it,  but  I've  an  eye  and  a  hand  as  good  as  most 
oiks',  and  I'll  qualify  to  there  being  a  fourth  part  more  weight  of 
it ; — and  it's  a  beautiful  color.  The  critters  is  as  fond  of  it  as  you 
and  I  be  of  strawberries." 

"  Well  that  is  satisfactory,  Mr.  Douglass,"  said  Fleda.  "  How 
is  Mrs.  Douglass?  and  Catharine?" 

"  I  ha'n't  heerd  'em  sayin*  nothin'  about  it,"  he  said, — "  and  if 
there  was  any  thin'  the  matter  I  suppose  they'd  let  me  know. 
There  don't  much  go  wrong  in  a  man's  house  without  his  hearin* 
tell  of  it.  So  I  think.  Maybe  'tain't  the  same  in  other  men's 
houses.  That's  the  way  it  is  in  mine." 

"  Mrs.  Douglass  would  not  thank  you,"  said  Fleda,  wholly 
unable  to  keep  from  laughing.  Earl's  mouth  gave  way,  a  very  little, 
and  then  he  went  on. 

"  How  be  you?"  he  said.  "  You  ha'n't  gained  much,  as  I  see. 
I  don't  see  but  you're  as  poor  as  when  you  went  away." 

"  I  a,.n  very  well,  Mr.  Douglass." 

'•I  guess  New  York  aia't  the  place  to  grow  fat.     Well.  Fleda, 


QUEECHT.  3TJ 

there  ha'n't  been  seen  in  the  hull  country,  or  by  any  man  in  it,  the 
like  of  the  crop  of  corn  we  took  off  that  'ere  twenty -acre  lot — 
they're  all  beat  to  hear  tell  of  it — they  won't  believe  me — Seth 
Plumfield  ha'n't  showed  as  much  himself — he  says  you're  the  best 
farmer  in  the  state." 

"  I  hope  he  gives  you  part  of  the  credit,  Mr.  Douglass ; — how 
much  was  there  ?  " 

"  I'll  take  my  share  of  credit  whenever  I  can  get  it,"  said  Earl, 
"  and  I  think  it's  right  to  take  it,  as  long  as  you  ha'n't  nothing 
o  be  ashamed  of;  but  I  won't  take  no  more  than  my  share  ;  and 
(  will  say  I  thought  we  was  a  goin'  to  choke  the  corn  to  death 
#hen  we  seeded  the  field  in  that  way. — Well,  there's  better  than 
two  thousand  bushel — more  or  less — and  as  handsome  corn  as  I 
want  to  see  ; — there  never  was  handsomer  corn.  Would  you  let  it 
go  for  five  shillings? — there's  a  man  I've  heerd  of  wants  the  hull 
of  it." 

"Is  that  a  good  price,  Mr.  Douglass?  Why  don't  you  ask  Mr. 
Rossitur  ? ' ' 

"Do  you  s'pose  Mr.  Rossitur  knows  much  about  it ?"  inquired 

Earl  with  a  curious  turn  of  feature,  between  sly  and  contemptuous. 

"  The  less  he  has  to  do  with  that  heap  of  corn  the  bigger  it' ll.be-— 

hat's  my  idee.     /  ain't  agoin'   to  ask  him  nothin' — you  may  ask 

him  what  you  like  to  ask  him — but    I   don't  think  he'll   tell  you 

*uch  that'll  make  you  and  me  wiser  in  the  matter  o'  farmin'." 

"  But  now  that  he  is  at  home,  Mr.  Douglass,  I  certainly  cannot 
(ecide  without  speaking  to  him." 

"  Very  good  !  "  said  Earl  uneasily, — "  'taint  no  affair  of  mine — . 
\s  you  like  to  have  it  so  you'll  have  it — just  as  you  please  ! — 
£ut  now,  Fleda,  there's  another  thing  I  want  to  speak  to  you 
about — I  want  you  to  let  me  take  hold  of  that  'ere  piece  of 
Swamp  land  and  bring  it  in.  I  knew  a  man  that  fixed  a  piece  of 
land  like  that  and  cleared  nigh  a  thousand  dollars  off  it  the  first 
year." 

••  Which  piece  ?  "  said  Fleda. 

"  Why  you  know  which  'tis — just  the  other  side  of  the  trees  over 
there — between  them  two  little  hills.  There's  six  or  seven  acres  of 
it — nothin'  in  the  world  but  mud  and  briars — will  you  let  me  take 
hold  of  it?  I'll  do  the  hull  job  if  you'll  give  me  half  the  profits 
for  one  year. — Come  over  and  look  at  it,  and  I'll  tell  you — come  I 

-the  walk  won't  hurt  you,  and  it  ain't  fur." 

All  Fleda's  inclinations  said  no,  but  she  thought  it  was  not  best 
o  indulge  them.  She  put  on  her  hood  and  went  off  with  him  ; 
and  was  treated  to  a  long  and  most  implicated  detail  of  ways  and 
means,  from  which  she  at  length  disentangled  the  rationale  of  the 
matter  and  gave  Mr.  Douglass  the  consent  he  asked  for,  promising 
to  gain  that  of  her  uncle. 

The  day  was  fair  and  mild,  and  in  spite  of  weariness  of  body  a 
certain  weariness  of  mind  prompted  Fleda  when  she  got  rid  of 
Earl  Douglass,  to  go  and  see  her  aunt  Miriam.  She  went  question 
ing  with  herself  all  the  way  for  her  want  of  good-will  to  these 
mailers.  True,  they  were  not  pleasant  mimd-werk  ;  but  she  tried  to 
school  herself  into  taking  them  patiently  as  good  life-work  Sht 


ITS  QUEECHY. 

lad  had  too  much  pleasant  company  and  enjoyed  too  much  con 
versation,  she  said.  It  had  unfitted  her  for  home  duties. 

Mrs.  Plumfield,  she  knew,  was  no  better.  But  her  eye  found  no 
;hange  for  the  worse.  The  old  lady  was  very  glad  to  see  her,  and 
very  cheerful  and  kind  as  usual. 

"  Well  are  you  glad  to  be  home  again?  "  said  aunt  Miriam,  after 
p.  pause  in  the  conversation. 

"  Everybody  asks  me  that  question,"  said  Fleda  smiling. 

"  Perhaps  for  the  same  reason  I  did — because  they  thought  you 
didn't  look  very  glad." 

"  I  am  glad — "  said  Fleda, — "  but  I  believe  not  so  glad  as  I  wa< 
last  year." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  suppose  I  had  a  pleasanter  time.  I  have  got  a  little  spoiled,  I 
believe,  aunt  Miriam,"  Fleda  said  -with  glistening  eyes  and  an 
altering  voice, — "  I  don't  take  up  my  old  cares  and  duties  kindly 
at  first — I  shall  be  myself  again  in  a  few  days." 

Aunt  Miriam  looked  at  her  with  that  fond,  wistful,  benevolent 
look  which  made  Fleda  turn  away. 

"  What  has  spoiled  you,  love?  " 

,««  Oh  ! — easy  living  and  pleasure,  I  suppose — "  Fleda  said,  but 
said  with  difficulty. 

"  Pleasure?  " — said  aunt  Miriam,  putting  one  arm  gently  round 
her.  Fleda  struggled  with  herself. 

"  It  is  so  pleasant,  aunt  Miriam,  to  forget  these  money  cares! — 
to  lift  one's  eyes  from  the  ground  and  feel  free  to  stretch  out  one's 
hand — not  to  be  obliged  to  think  about  spending  sixpences,  and  to 
have  one's  mind  at  liberty  for  a  great  many  things  that  I. haven't 
time  for  here.  And  Hugh — and  aunt  Lucy — somehow  things  seem 
sad  to  me — " 

Nothing  could  be  more  sympathizingly  kind  than  the  way  in 
which  aunt  Miriam  brought  Fleda  closer  to  her  side  and  wrapped 
&er  in  her  arms. 

"  I  am  very  foolish — "  Fleda  whispered, — "  I  am  very  wrong — I 
'hall  get  over  it — " 

"  I  am  afraid,  dear  Fleda,"  Mrs.  Plumfield  said  after  a  pause, — 
«•  it  isn't  best  for  us  always  to  be  without  sad  things — though  I  can- 
j^ot  bear  to  see  your  dear  little  face  look  sad — but  it  wouldn't  fit  us 
*br  the  work  we  have  to  do — it  wouldn't  fit  us  to  stand  where  ? 
tftand  now  and  look  forward  happily." 

"  Where  you  stand  ?  "  said  Fleda  raising  her  head. 

"  Yes,  and  I  would  not  be  without  a  sorrow  I  have  ever  known. 
They  are  bitter  now,  when  they  are  present, — but  the  sweet  fruit 
comes  after." 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  by  '  where  you  stand  ? ' ' 

"  On  the  edge  of  life." 

"  You  do  not  think  so,  aunt  Miriam  !  "  Fleda  said  with  a  terrified 
look.  "You  are  not  worse  ?  " 

"  I  don't  expect  ever  to  be  better,"  said  Mrs.  Plumfield  with  a 
smile.  "  Nay,  my  love,"  she  said,  as  Fleda's  head  went  down  on 
her  bosom  again, — "not  so!  I  do  not  wish  it  either,  Fleda.  I  do 
not  expect  to  leave  you  soon,  but  I  would  not  prolong  the  time  by 
3.  day.  I  would  not  have  spoken  of  it  now  if  I  had  recollected 


QUEECHY.  »79 

myself, — but  I  am  so  accustomed  to  think  and  speak  of  it  that  it 
came  out  before  I  knew  it. — My  darling  child,  it  is  nothing  to  cry 
for." 

"  I  know  it,  aunt  Miriam." 

"Then  don't  cry,"  whispered  aunt  Miriam,  when  she  had 
stroked  Fleda's  head  for  five  minutes. 

"  I  am  crying  for  myself,  aunt  Miriam,"  said  Fleda.  "I  shall 
'>e  left  alone." 

•Alone,  my  dear  child?" 

31  Yes — there  is  nobody  but  you  that  I  feel  I  can  talk  to." 

She  would  have  added  that  she  dared  not  say  a  word  to  Hugh  for 
tear  of  troubling  him.  But  that  pain  at  her  heart  stopped  her,  and 
pressing  her  hands  together  she  burst  into  bitter  weeping. 

"  Nobody  to  talk  to  but  me?  "  said  Mrs.  Plumfield  after  again 
soothing  her  for  some  time, — "  what  do  you  mean,  dear  ?  " 

"  O — I  can't  say  anything  to  them  at  home,"  said  Fleda  with  a 
forced  efrbrt  after  voice  ; — "  and  you  are  the  only  one  I  can  look  to 
for  help — Hugh  never  says  anything — almost  never — anything  of 
that  kind  ; — he  would  rather  others  should  counsel  him — " 

"  There  is  one  friend  to  whom  you  may  always  tell  everything, 
with  no  fear  of  wearying  him; — of  whom  you  may  at  all  times  ask 
counsel  without  any  danger  of  being  denied, — more  dear,  more 
precious,  more  rejoiced  in,  the  more  he  is  sought  unto.  Thou 
mayest  lose  friend  after  friend,  and  gain  more  than  thou  losest,— in 
that  one." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Fleda  ; — "  but  dear  aunt  Miriam,  don't  you 
think  human  nature  longs  for  some  human  sympathy  and  help 
too?  " 

"  My  sweet  blossom  ! — yes — "  said  Mrs.  Plumfield  caressingly 
stroking  her  bowed  head, — "  but  let  him  do  what  he  will  ; — he  hath 
said,  '  I  will  never  leave  thee  nor  forsake  thee.'  " 

"  I  know  that  too,"  said  Fleda  weeping.  "  How  do  people  bear 
life  that  do  not  know  it !  " 

"  Or  that  cannot  take  the  comfort  of  it.  Thou  are  not  poor  nor 
alone  while  thou  hast  him  to  go  to,  little  Fleda. — And  you  are  not 
losing  me  yet,  my  child  ;  you  will  have  time,  I  think,  to  grow  as 
well  satisfied  as  I  with  the  prospect." 

"  Is  that  possible, — for  others?''  said  Fleda. 

The  mother  sighed,  as  her  son  entered  the  room. 

He  looked  uncommonly  grave,  Fleda  thought.  That  did  not 
surprise  her,  but  it  seemed  that  it  did  his  mother,  for  she  asked  an 
explanation.  Which  however  he  did  not  give. 

"  So  you've  got  back  from  New  York,"  said  he. 

"Just  got  back,  yesterday,"  said  Fleda. 

"  Why  didn't  you  stay  longer?" 

"*I  thought  my  friends  at  home  would  be  glad  to  see  me,"  said 
Fleda.  "  Was  I  mistaken  ?  " 

He  made  no  answer  for  a  minute,  and  then  said, 

"  Is  your  uncle  at  home  ? " 

"No,"  said  Fleda,  "he  went  away  this  morning  on  bminess, 
And  we  do  not  expect  him  home  before  night-fall.  Do  you  want  to 
see  him  ?  ' ' 

"No,"    said   Seth  very   decidedly.     "I    wish   he  had  staid  In 


or  •  om  fartbw  wi«»-*fcnywh*N  ittett  Quiwhy'd 
**rd  of  him,11 

"  Why  what  has  he  doh«  ?  "  Said  £l«dt,  loekihg  uphalf  l*ughlr,| 
And  half  amazed  at  her  cousin.  But  his  face  was  disagreeably 
dark,  though  she  could  not  make  out  that  the  expression  was  one 
of  displeasure.  It  did  not  encourage  her  to  talk. 

"  Do  you  know  a  man  in  New  York  by  the  name  of  Thorn  ?  "  he 
said  after  standing  still  a  minute  or  two. 

••  I  know  two  men  of  that  name,"  said  Fleda,  coloring  and 
wondering. 

"  Is  either  on  'em  a  friend  of  your'n  ?  " 

"No." 

"He  ain't?  "  said  Mr.  Plumfield,  giving  the  forestick  on  the  fire 
an  energetic  kick  which  Fleda  could  not  help  thinking  was  mentally 
aimed  at  the  said  New  Yorker. 

"  No  certainly.     What  makes  you  ask?  " 

"O,"  said  Seth  dryly,  "folks'  tongues  will  find  work  to  do  ;— -I 
heerd  say  something  like  that— I  thought  you  must  take  to  him 
more  than  I  do." 

"  Why  what  do  you  know  of  him  ?  " 

"He's  been  here  a  spell  lately, ".said  Seth, — "poking  round* 
more  for  ill  than  for  good,  I  reckon." 

He  turned  and  quitted  the  room  abruptly  ;  and  Fleda  bethougb 
her  that  she  must  go  home  while  she  had  light  enough. 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

Nothing  could  be  more  obliging  and  respectful  than  the  lion's  letter  was, 
in  appearance ;  but  there  was  death  in  the  true  intent. — L'EsTRANGE. 

THE  landscape  had  grown  more  dark  since  Fleda  came  up  the 
hill, — or  else  the  eyes  that  looked  at  it.  Both  probably.  It  was 
just  after  sundown,  and  that  is  a  very  sober  time  of  day  in  winter, 
especially  in  some  states  of  the  weather.  The  sun  had  left  no 
largesses  behind  him  ;  the  scenery  was  deserted  to  all  the  coming 
poverty  of  night  and  looked  grim  and  threadbare  already.  Not  one 
of  the  colors  of  prosperity  left.  The  land  was  in  mourning  dress  ; 
all  the  ground  and  even  the  ice  on  the  little  mill-ponds  a  uniform 
spread  of  white,  while  the  hills  were  draperied  with  black  stems, 
here  just  veiling  the  snow,  and  there  on  a  side  view  making  a  thick 
fold  of  black.  Every  little  unpainted  workshop  or  mill  showed  un 
compromisingly  all  its  forbidding  sharpness  of  angle  and  outline 
darkening  against  the  twilight.  In  better  days  perhaps  some 
friendly  tree  had  hung  over  it,  shielding  part  of  its  faults  and  re 
deeming  the  rest.  Now  nothing  but  the  gaunt  skeleton  of  a  friend 
stood  there, — doubtless  to  bud  forth  again  as  fairly  as  ever  should 
the  season  smile.  Still  and  quiet,  all  was,  as  Fleda's  spirit,  and  in 
too  good  harmony  with  it ;  she  resolved  to  choose  the  morning  tog~- 
out  in  future.  There  was  as  little  of  the  light  of  spring  or  summer 
in  her  own  mind  as  on  the  hills,  and  it  was  desirable  to  catch  at 
ler ••>!  a  cheering  reflection.  She  could  rouse  herself  to  no  bright 
thoughts^  try  as  she  would  ;  the  happy  voices  of  nature  that  used  to 
t,peak  to  her  were  all  hushed, — or  her  ear  was  deaf;  ^  ad  her  eye 


fill  uefting  thit  did  not  immi  dUnly  fiU  in  with  thi  trim  df  til 
imagfi  that  wtra  pa**!ng  through  her  mind  and  ewiH  thi  p?ae-e»«left» 
She  was  fain  to  fall  back  and  stay  herself  upon  these  words,  th* 
only  Stand-by  she  could  lay  hold  of  ;— 

"  TO  THEM  WHO  BY  PATIENT  CONTINUANCE  IN  WELL-DOtNO  SEEK 
FOR  GLORY,  AND  HONOR,  AND  IMMORTALITY,  ETERNAL  LIFE  !  " — 

They  toned  with  the  scene  and  with  her  spirit  exactly  ;  they 
suited  the  darkening  sky  and  the  corning  night;  for  "glory, 
honor,  and  immortality  "  are  not  now.  They  filled  Fleda'smind, 
after  they  had  once  entered,  and  then  nature's  sympathy  was  again 
is  readily  given  ;  each  barren  stern-looking  hill  in  its  guise  of  pres- 
ent  desolation  and  calm  exjjfcctancy  seemed  to  echo  softly,  "  patient 
continuance  in  well-doing."  And  the  tears  trembled  then  in 
Fleda's  eyes  ;  she  had  set  her  face,  as  the  old  Scotchman  says,  "in 
the  right  airth."*  "  How  sweet  is  the  wind  that  bloweth  out  of  the 
airth  where  Christ  is  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Hugh,  who  entered  the  kitchen  with  her,  "  you  have 
been  late  enough.  Did  you  have  a  pleasant  walk?  You  are  pale, 
Fleda." 

"Yes,  it  was  pleasant,"  said  Fleda  with  one  of  her  winning 
smiles, — "  a  kind  of  pleasant.  But  have  you  looked  at  the  hills? 
They  are  exactly  as  if  they  had  put  on  mourning— nothing  but  white 
and  black — a  crape-like  dressing  of  black  tree-stems  upon  the  snowy 
face  of  the  ground,  and  one  very  slope  and  edge  of  the  hills  the  crape 
lies  in  folds.  Do  look  at  it  when  you  go  out !  It  has  a  most  curi 
ous  effect." 

"  Not  pleasant,  I  should  think,"  said  Hugh. 

"  You'll  see  it  is  just  as  I  have  described  it.  No. -not  pleasant 
exactly — the  landscape  wants  the  sun  to  light  it  up  jusl  now — it  is 
cold  and  wilderness-looking.  I  think  I'll  take  the  morning  in  future. 
Wither  are  you  bound  ?  " 

"  I  must  go  over  to  Queechy  Run  for  a  minute,  on  business — 
I'll  be  home  before  supper— I  should  have  been  back  by  this  time  but 
Philetus  has  gone  to  bed  vvith  a  headache  and  I  had  to  take  care  of 
the  cows." 

"  Three  times  and  out,"  said  Barby.  "  I  won't  try  again.  I 
didn't  know  as  anything  would  be  too  powerful  for  his  head  ;  but  I 
find  as  sure  as  he  has  apple  dumplin'  for  dinner  he  goes  to  bed  for 
^is  supper  and  leaves  the  cows  without  none.  And  then  Hugh  has 
<G  take  it.  It  has  saved  so  many  Elephants — that's  one  thing/' 

Hugh  went  out  by  one  door  and  Fleda  by  another  entered  the 
dreakfast-room  ;  the  one  generally  used  in  winter  for  all  purposes. 
Mrs.  Rossitur  sat  there  alone  in  an  easy-chair  ;  and  Fleda  no 
sooner  caught  the  outline  of  her  figure  than  her  heart  sank  at 
once  to  an  unknown  depth, — unknown  before  an  unfathomable  now. 
She  was  cowering  over  the  fire, — her  head  sunk  in  her  hands,  so 
crouching,  that  the  line  of  neck  and  shoulders  instantly  conveyed  to 
Fleda  the  idea  of  fancied  or  felt  degradation — there  was  no  escap 
ing  it— how,  whence,  what,  was  all  wild  confusion.  But  the  lan 
guage  of  mere  attitude  was  so  unmistakable, — the  expression  of 
crushing  pain  was  so  strong,  that  after  Fleda  had  fearfully  made 
frer  way  up  beside  her  she  could  do  no  more.  She  stood  there 
*  Quarter,  direction. 


S82  QVEECHY. 

tongue-tied,  spell-bound,  present  to  nothing  but  a  nameless  cliiH 
of  fear  and  heart-sinking.  She  was  afraid  to  speak — afraid  to 
touch  her  aunt,  and  abode  motionless  in  the  grasp  of  that  dread 
four  minutes.  But  Mrs.  Rossitur  did  not  stir  a  hair,  and  the  ter 
ror  of  that  stillness  grew  to  be  less  endurable  than  any  other. 

Fleda  spoke  to  her, — it  did  not  win  the  shadow  of  a  reply, — 
again  and  again.  She  laid  her  hand  then  upon  Mrs.  Rossitur's 
shoulder,  but  the  very  significant  answer  to  that  was  a  shrinking 
gesture  of  the  shoulder  and  neck,  away  from  the  hand.  Fleda 
growing  desperate  then  implored  an  answer  in  words — prayed 
for  an  explanation — with  an  intensity  of  distress  in  voice  and  man* 
ner,  that  no  one  whose  ears  were  not  stopped  with  a  stronger  feel 
ing  could  have  been  deaf  to  ;  but  Mrs.  Rossitur  would  not  raise 
her  head,  nor  slacken  in  the  least  the  clasp  of  the  fingers  that 
supported  it,  that  of  themselves  in  their  relentless  tension  spoke 
what  no  words  could.  Fleda's  trembling  prayers  were  in  vain,  in 
vain.  Poor  nature  at  last  sought  a  woman's  relief  in  tears — but 
they  were  heart-breaking,  not  heart-relieving  tears — racking  both 
mind  and  body  more  than  they  ought  to  bear,  but  bringing  no 
cure.  Mrs.  Rcssitur  seemed  as  unconscious  of  her  niece's  mute 
agony  as  she  had  been  of  her  agony  of  words  ;  and  it  was  from 
Fleda's  own  self-recollection  alone  that  she  fought  off  pain  and 
roused  herself  above  weakness  to  do  what  the  time  called  for. 

"Aunt  Lucy,"  she  said  laying  her  hand  upon  her  shoulder,  and 
this  time  the  voice  was  steady  and  the  hand  would  not  be 
shaken  off, — "  Aunt  Lucy, — Hugh  will  be  in  presently — hadn't  you 
better  rouse  yourself  and  go  up  stairs — for  awhile  ? — till  you  are 
better? — and  not  let  him  see  you  so  ? — " 

How  the  voice  was  broken  and  quivering  before  it  got  through ! 

The  answer  this  time  was  a  low  long-drawn  moan,  so  exceeding 
plaintive  and  full  of  pain  that  it  made  Fleda  shake  like  an  aspen. 
But  after  a  moment  she  spoke  again,  bearing  more  heavily  with 
her  hand  to  mark  her  words. 

"  I  am  afraid  he  will  be  in  presently — he  ought  not  to  see  you 
pow — Aunt  Lucy,  I  am  afraid  it  might  do  him  an  injury  he  might 
not  get  over — "  f 

She  spoke  with  the  strength  of  desperation  ;  her  nerves  were  un 
strung  by  fear,  and  every  joint  weakened  so  that  she  could  hardly 
support  herself.  She  had  not  however  spoken  in  vain  ;  one  or  two 
Convulsive  shudders  passed  over  her  aunt,  and  then  Mrs.  Rossitur 
suddenly  rose  turning  her  face  from  Fleda  ;  neither  would  she  per~ 
mit  her  to  follow  her.  But  Fleda  thought  that  she  had  seen  that  one 
or  two  unfolded  letters  or  papers  of  some  kind,  they  looked  like  let 
ters,  were  in  her  lap  when  she  raised  her  head. 

Left  alone,  Fleda  sat  down  on  the  floor  by  the  easy  chair  and 
rested  her  head  there  ;  waiting, — she  could  do  nothing  else, — till 
her  extreme  excitement  of  body  and  mind  should  ha  ye  quieted  itself. 
She  had  a  kind  of  vague  hope  that  time  would  do  something  for  her 
before  Hugh  came  in.  Perhaps  it  did  ;  for  though  she  lay  in  a  kind 
of  stupor,  and  was  conscious  of  no  change  whatever,  she  was  able 
when  she  heard  him  coming  to  get  up  and  sit  in  the  chair  in  an  or 
dinary  attitude.  But  she  looked  like  the  wraith  of  herself  an  hour 
ago* 


QUEECHY.  38S 

"  Fleoa ! >l  Hugh  exclaimed  as  soon  as  he  looked  from  the  fire  to 
h«r  face, — "  what  is  the  matter  ! — what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  very  well — I  don't  feel  very  well,"  said  Fleda  speak 
ing  almost  mechanically, — "  I  shall  have  a  headache  to-morrow — 

"  Headache  ?  But  you  look  shockingly  !  what  has  happened  to 
you  ?  what  is  the  matter,  Fleda  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  ill — I  shall  be  better  by  and  by.  There  is  nothing  the 
matter  with  me  that  need  trouble  you,  dear  Hugh." 

"  Nothing  the  matter  with  you  !  "  said  he,— and  Fleda  might  sec 
fcow  she  looked  in  the  reflection  of  his  face,—"  where* s  mother  ?  " 

"'She  is  up-stairs — you  mustn't  go  to  her  Hugh!  "  said  Fled? 
laying  a  detaing  hand  upon  him  with  more  strength  than  she  thought 
she  had,—"  I  don't  want  anything." 

"  Why  mustn't  1  go  to  her  ?  ' ' 

"  I  don't  think  she  wants  to  be  disturbed — " 

"  I  must  disturb  her — " 

"  You  mustn't !— I  know  she  don't— she  isn't  well— something  hai 
ed  to  troubk  her — " 

"What?" 

"  I  don't  know.'* 

"  And  is  that  what  has  troubled  you  too  ?  "  said  Hugh,  his  coun 
tenance  changing  as  he  gained  more  light  on  the  subject ; — "  what 
is  it,  dear  Fleda  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  repeated  Fleda,  bursting  into  tears.  Hughwap 
quiet  enough  now,  and  sat  down  beside  her,  subdued  and  still,  with 
out  even  desiring  to  ask  a  question.  Fleda' s  tears  flowed  violently, 
for  a  minute, — then  she  checked  them,  for  his  sake  ;  and  they  sat 
motionless,  without  speaking  to  one  another,  looking  into  the  fire 
and  letting  it  die  out  before  them  into  embers  and  ashes,  neither 
stirring  to  put  a  hand  to  it.  As  the  fire  died  the  moonlight  streamed 
in, — how  very  dismal  the  room  looked ! 

"  What  do  you  think  about  having  tea  ?  "  said  Barby  opening  tho 
door  of  the  kitchen. 

Neither  felt  it  possible  to  answer  her. 

"Mr.  Rossitur  ain't  come  home,  is  he?" 

"No,"  said  Fleda,  shuddering. 

"So  I  thought,  and  so  I  told  Seth  Plumfield  just  now — he  was 
asking  for  him — My  stars!  ha'n't  you  no  fire  here?  what  did  you 
kt  it  go  out  for?" 

Barby  came  in  and  began  to  build  it  up. 

"  It's  growing  cold  I  can  tell  you,  so  you  may  as  well  have  some 
thing  in  the  chimney  to  look  at.  You'll  want  it  shortly  if  you  dont 
now." 

"  Was  Mr.  Plumfield  here,  did  you  say,  Barby  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Why  didn't  he  come  in  ?  " 

"  I  s'pose  he  hadn't  a  mind  to,"  said  Barby.  'Twa'n't  for  want 
of  being  asked.  I  did  the  civil  thing  by  him  if  he  didn't  by  me  ; — 
but  he  said  he  didn't  want  to  see  anybody  but  Mr.  Rossitur.'' 

Did  not  want  to  see  anybody  but  Mr.  Rossitur,  when  he  had  dis 
tinctly  said  he  did  not  wish  to  see  him?  Fleda  felt  sick,  merely 
from  the  mysterious  dread  which  could  fasten  upon  nothing  antj 
therefore  took  in  everything. 


384  QUEECJTY. 

(t  Well  what  about  tea?"  concluded  Barby,  when  the  fire  ww 
going  according  to  her  wishes.  "  Will  you  have  it,  or  will  you  wau 
k>nger?  " 

"  No — we  won't  wait — we  will  have  it  now,  Barby,"  said  Fleda, 
forcing  herself  to  make  the  exertion  ;  and  she  went  to  the  window 
to  put  down  the  hangings. 

The  moonlight  was  very  bright,  and  Fleda's  eye  was  caught  in 
the  very  act  of  letting  down  the  curtain,  by  a  figure  in  the  road 
slowly  passing  before  the  courtyard  fence.  It  paused  a  moment  by 
,he  horse-gate,  and  turning  paced  slowly  back  till  it  was  hid  behind 
ihe  rose-acacias.  There  was  a  clump  of  shrubbery  in  that  corner 
ihick  enough  even  in  winter  to  serve  for  a  screen.  Fleda  stood  with 
the  curtain  in  her  hand,  half  let'down,  unable  to  move,  and  feeling 
almost  as  if  the  very  currents  of  life  within  her  were  standing  still 
too.  She  thought,  she  was  almost  sure,  she  knew  the  figure  ;  it  was 
on  her  tongue  to  ask  Hugh  to  come  and  look,  but  she  checked  that. 
The  form  appeared  again  from  behind  the  acacias,  moving  with  the 
same  leisurely  pace  the  other  way  toward  the  horse-gate.  Fleda  let 
down  the  curtain,  then  the  other  two  quietly,  and  then  left  the  room 
and  stole  noiselessly  out  at  the  front  door,  leaving  it  open  that  the 
sound  of  it  might  not  warn  Hugh  what  she  was  about,  and  stepping 
like  a  cat  down  the  steps  ran  breathlessly  over  the  snow  to  the 
courtyard  gate.  There  waited,  shivering  in  the  cold  but  not  feeling 
it  for  the  cold  within, — while  the  person  she  was  watching  stood  still 
a  few  moments  by  the  horse-gate  and  came  again  with  leisurely 
steps  toward  her. 

"Seth  Plumfield  !  " — said  Fleda,  almost  as  much  frightened  at 
the  sound  of  her  own  voice  as  he  was.  He  stopped  immediately, 
•with  a  start,  and  came  up  to  the  little  gate  behind  which  she  was 
standing.  But  said  nothing. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  You  oughtn't  to  be  out  without  anything  on,"  said  he, — "  you're 
fixing  to  take  your  death." 

He  had  good  reason  to  say  so.  But  she  gave  him  no  more  heed 
than  the  wind. 

11  What  are  you  wailing  here  for  ?     What  do  you  want  ?  " 
•I   have   nothing   better  to   do  with  my  time,"  said  he  ;•=-">! 
•bought  I'd  walk  up  and  down  here  a  little.     You  go  in  !  " 

"  Are  you  waiting  to  see  uncle  Rolf?  "  she  said,  with  teeth  chat* 
Bering. 

"You  mustn't  stay  out  here,"  said  he  earnestly — "you're  like 
nothing  but  a  spook  this  minute — I'd  rather  see  one,  or  a  hull  army 
of  'em.  Go  in,  go  in  !  " 

"  Tell  me  if  you  want  to  see  him,  Seth." 

13  No  I  don't — I  told  you  I  didn't." 

"  Then  why  are  you  waiting  for  him  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I'd  see  if  he  was  coming  home  to-night — I  had  a  word 
to  say  if  I  could  catch  him  before  he  got  into  the  house." 

"Is  he  coming  home  to-night  ?  "  said  Fleda. 

"  I  don't  know  !  "  said  he  looking  at  her.     "  Do  you  ?  " 

Fleda  burst  open  the  gate  between  them  and  putting  her  haods 
an  his  implored  him  to  tell  her  what  was  the  matter  He  looked 


QUEECm.  386 

Angularly  disturbed ;  his  fine  eye  twinkled  with  compassion  ;  but 
his  face,  never  a  weak  one,  showed  no  signs  of  yielding  now. 

"The  matter  is,"  said  he  pressing  hard  both  her  hands,  "that 
you  are  fixing  to  be  down  sick  :n  your  bed  by  to-morrow.  Yo» 
mustn't  stay  another  second." 

"  Come  in  then." 

"  No— not  to-night." 

"  You  won't  tell  me  ! — " 

"  There  is  nothing  I  can  tell  you— Maybe  there'll  be  nothing  to 
tell — Run  in,  run  in,  and  keep  quiet." 

Fleda  hurried  back  to  the  house,  feeling  that  she  had  gone  to  the 
limit  of  risk  already.  Not  daring  to  show  herself  to  Hugh  in  her 
chilled  state  of  body  and  mind  she  went  into  the  kitchen. 

"  Why  what  on  earth's  come  over  you  !  "  was  Barby's  terrified 
ejaculation  when  she  saw  her. 

"  I  have  been  out  and  got  myself  cold — 

"Cold!"  said  Barby, — "you're  looking  dreadful!  What  on 
earth  ails  you,  Fleda?" 

"  Don't  ask  me,  Barby,"  said  Fleda  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands 

and  shivering, — "  I  made  myself  very  cold  just  now Aunt  Lucy 

doesn't  feel  very  well  and  I  got  frightened,"  she  added  presently. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  her?" 

"  I  don't  know — if  you'll  make  me  a  cup  of  tea  I'll  take  it  up  t* 
her,  Barby." 

"You  put  yourself  down  there,"  said  Barby  placing  her  with 
gentle  force  in  a  chair,—"  you'll  do  no  such  a  thing  till  I  see  you 
look  as  if  there  was  some  blood  in  you.  I'll  take  it  up  myself.'* 

But  Fleda  held  her,  though  with  a  hand  much  too  feeble  indeed 
for  any  but  moral  suasion.  It  was  enough,  Barby  stood  silently 
and  very  anxiously  watching  her,  till  the  fire  had  removed  the  out 
ward  chill  at  least.  But  even  that  took  long  to  do,  and  before  it 
was  well  done  Fleda  again  asked  for  the  cup  of  tea.  Barby 
made  it  without  a  word,  and  Fleda  went  to  her  aunt  with  it,  tak- 
ing  her  strength  from  the  sheer  emergency.  Her  knees  trembled 
under  her  as  she  mounted  the  stairs,  and  once  a  glimps^  of  those 
words  flitted  across  her  mind, — "  patient  continuance  in  well-do- 
'ng.'  It  was  like  a  lightning  flash  in  a  dark  night  showing  the  way 
me  aust  go.  She  could  lay  hold  of  no  other  stay.  Her  mind 
vas  ull  of  one  intense  purpose— to  end  the  suspense. 

She  gently  tried  the  door  of  her  aunt's  room  ;  it  was  unfastened, 
and  she  went  in.  Mrs.  Rossitur  was  lying  on  the  bed  ;  but  her 
first  mood  had  changed,  for  at  Fleda's  soft  word  and  touch  she 
hall  rose  up  and  putting  both  arms  rouid  her  waist  laid  her  face 
against  her.  There  was  no  tears  still,  only  a  succession  of  low 
moans,  so  inexpressibly  weak  and  plaintive  that  Fleda's  nature 
could  hardly  bear  them  without  giving  way.  A  more  fragile  sup 
port  was  never  clung  to.  Yet  her  trembling  fingers,  in  their  agony, 
moved  caressingly  among  her  aunt's  hair  and  over  her  brow  as  she 
begged  her — when  she  could,  she  was  not  able  at  first, — to  let  her 
know  the  cause  that  was  grieving  her.  The  straitened  clasp  of  Mrs. 
Rossiti't's  arms  and  her  increased  moaning  gave  only  an  answer  of 
pain.  But  Fleda  repeated  the  question.  Mrs.  Rossitur  still  neglect- 
Ing  it,  then  made  her  tit  down  upon  the  bed,  so  that  she  could  lay 


$86  «  QUEECHT. 

her  head  higher,  on  Fleda's -bosom  ;  where  she  hid  it,  with  a  ming 
ling  of  fondness  given  and  asked,  a  poor  seeking  for  comfort  and 
rest,  that  wrung  her  niece's  heart. 

They  sat  so  for  a  little  time  ;  Fleda  hoping  that  her  aunt  would 
by  degrees  come  to  the  point  herself.  The  tea  stood  cooling  on  the 
table,  not  even  offered  ;  not  wanted  there. 

"Wouldn't  you  feel  better  if  you  told  me,  dear  aunt  Lucy?" 
said  Fleda,  when  they  had  been  for  a  little  while  perfectly  still. 
Even  the  moaning  had  ceased. 

"Is  your  uncle  come  home?"  whispered  Mrs.  Rossitur,  but  st 
low  that  Fleda  could  but  half  catch  the  words. 
'  Not  yet." 

What  o'clock  is  it?  " 

I  don't  know — not  early — it  must  be  near  eight. — Why?** 
You  have  not  heard  anything  of  him  ? " 
1  No — nothing." 

There  was  silence  again  for  a  little,  and  then  Mrs.  Rossitur  said 
m  a  low  fearful  whisper, 

-*  Have  you  seen  anybody  round  the  house  ?  " 

Fleda' s  thoughts  flew  to  Seth,  with  that  nameless  fear  to  which 
she  could  give  neither  shape  nor  direction,  and  after  a  moment's 
hesitation  she  said, 

11  What  do  you  mean  ?'* 

«•  Have  vou  ? "  said  Mrs.  Rossitur  with  more  energy. 

"  Seth  Plumfield  was  here  a  little  while  ago." 

Her  aunt  had  the  clue  that  she  had  not,  for  with  a  half  scream, 
half  exclamation,  she  quitted  Fleda's  arms  and  fell  back  upon  the 
pillows,  turning  from  her  and  hiding  her  face  there.  Fleda  prayed 
again  for  her  confidence,  as  well  as  the  weakness  and  the  strength 
of  fear  could  do  ;  and  Mrs.  Rossitur  presently  grasping  a  paper  that 
lay  on  the  bed  held  it  out  to  her,  saying  only  as  Fleda  was  about 
quitting  the  room,  "  Bring  me  a  light." 

Fleda  left  the  letter  there  and  went  down  to  fetch  one.  She  com 
manded  herself  under  the  excitement  and  necessity  of  the  moment, 
— all  but  her  face  ;  that  terrified  Barby  exceedingly.  But  she  spoke 
with  a  strange  degree  of  calmness  ;  told  her  Mrs.  Rossitur  was  not 
alarmingly  ill ;  that  she  did  not  need  Barby's  services  and  wished 
to  see  nobody  but  herself  and  didn't  want  a  fire.  As  she  was  pass 
ing  through  the  hall  again  Hugh  came  out  of  the  sitting-room  tc 
ask  after  his  mother.  Fleda  kept  the  light  from  her  face. 

"She  does  not  want  to  be  disturbed — I  hope  she  will  be  bettei 
to-morrow." 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Fleda  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  yet."    * 

"  And  you  are  ill  yourself,  Fleda  ! — you  are  ill ! — " 

"  No — I  shall  do  very  well — never  mind  me.  Hugh,  take  some 
tea — I  will  be  down  by  and  by." 

He  went  back,  and  Fledsf  went  up-stairs.  Mrs.  Rossitur  had  not 
moved.  Fleda  set  down  the  light  and  herself  beside  itt  with  the 
paper  her  aunt  had  given  her.  It  was  a  letter. 

' '  QUEECHY,  Thursday — 
"*It  gives  me  great  concern,  my  dear  madam,  to  be  the  meaai 


QUEEOJ3Y.  38-7 

of  bringing  to  you  a  piece  of  painful  information — but  it  cannot  be 
long  kept  from  your  knowledge  and  you  may  perhaps  learn  it  better 
from  me  than  by  any  other  channel.  May  I  entreat  you  not  to  be 
too  much  alarmed,  since  I  am  confident  the  cause  will  be  of  short 
duration. 

•'  Pardon  me  for  what  I  am  about  to  say. 

'  There  are  proceedings  entered  into  against  Mr.  Rossitur — there 
are  writs  out  against  him — on  the  charge  of  having,  some  years  ago, 
endorsed  my  father's  name  upon  a  note  of  his  own  giving. — Why  it 
has  lain  so  long  I  cannot  explain.  There  is  unhappily  no  doubt  of 
'he  fact. 

"  I  was  in  Queechy  some  days  ago,  on  business  of  my  own,  whe» 
i  became  aware  that  this  was  going  on — my  father  had  made  no 
mention  of  it  to  me.  I  immediately  took  strict  measures,  I  am 
happy  to  say  I  believe  with  complete  success, — to  have  the  matter 
kept  a  profound  secret.  I  then  made  my  way  as  fast  possible  to 
New  York  to  confer  on  the  subject  with  the  original  mover  of  it — 
unfortunately  I  was  disappointed.  My  father  had  left  for  a  neigh 
boring  city,  to  be  absent  several  days.  Finding  myself  too  late 
to  prevent,  as  I  had  hoped  to  do,  any  open  steps  from  being  taken 
at  Queechy,  I  returned  hither  immediately  to  enforce  secrecy  of 
proceedings  and  to  assure  you,  madam,  that  my  utmost  exertions 
shall  not  be  wanting  to  bring  the  whole  matter  to  a  speedy  and  sat 
isfactory  termination.  I  entertain  no  doubt  of  being  able  to  suc 
ceed  entirely — even  to  the  point  of  having  the  whole  transaction  re 
main  unknown  and  unsuspected  by  the  world.  It  is  so  entirely  as 
yet,  with  the  exception  of  one  or  two  law-officers  whose  silence  I 
have  means  of  procuring. 

"  May  I  confess  that  I  am  not  entirely  disinterested  ?  May  the 
selfishness  of  human  nature  ask  its  reward,  and  own  its  moving 
spring  ?  May  I  own  that  my  zeal  in  this  cause  is  quickened  by  the 
unspeakable  excellencies  of  Mr.  Rossitur' s  lovely  niece — which  I 
have  learned  to  appreciate  with  my  whole  heart — and  be  forgiven  ? 
— And  may  I  hope  for  the  kind  offices  and  intercession  of  the  lady 
I  have  the  honor  of  addressing,  with  her  niece  Miss  Ringgan,  that 
my  reward, — the  single  word  of  encouragement  I  ask  for, — may  be 
given  me  ? — Having  that,  I  will  promise  anything — I  will  guaranty 
the  success  of  any  enterprise,  however  difficult,  to  which  she  may 
:mpel  me, — and  I  will  undertake  that  the  matter  which  furnishes  the 
gainful  theme  of  this  letter  shall  never  more  be  spoken  or  though* 
:l.  by  the  world,  or  my  father,  or  by  Mrs.  Rossitur' s 
obliged,  grateful,  and 

faithful  servant, 

LEWIS  THORN." 

Fleda  felt  as  she  read  as  if  icicles  were  gathering  about  her  heart. 
The  whirlwind  of  fear  and  distress  of  a  little  while  ago,  which  could 
take  no  definite  direction,  seemed  to  have  died  away  and  given 
place  to  a  dead  frost — the  steady  bearing,  down  of  disgrace  and 
misery,  inevitable,  unmitigable,  unchangeable  ;  no  lessening,  no 
softening  of  that  blasting  power,  no,  nor  ever  any  rising  up  from 
under  it;  the  landscape  could  never  be  made  to  smile  again.  It 
was  the  fall  of  a  bright  star  from  their  home  constellation,  but  alas' 


the  star  was  fallen  long  ago,  and  the  fauu^>  of  light  which  they  had 
deplored  was  all  too  easily  accounted  lor  ;  yet  now  they  knew  that 
no  x'estoration  was  to  be  hoped.  And  the  mother  and  son — what 
would  become  of  them  ?  And  tb*>  father — what  would  become  of 
him  ?  what  further  distress  was  MI  store  ? — Public  disgrace  ? — and 
Fleda  bowed  her  head  forward  *^n  her  clasped  hands  with  the  me 
chanical  vain  endeavor  to  see1*  rest  or  shelter  from  thought.  She 
made  nothing  of  Mr.  Thorn'**  professions  ;  she  took  only  the  facts 
of  his  letter ;  the  rest  her  f  ye  had  glanced  over  as  if  she  had  no 
concern  with  it,  and  it  hardly  occurred  to  her  that  she  had  any.  But 
the  sense  of  his  words  sh^  had  taken  in,  and  knew,  better  perhaps 
than  her  aunt,  that  ther^  was  nothing  to  look  for  from  his  kind 
offices.  The  weight  or  her  heart  was  too  great  just  then  for  her  to 
suspect  as  she  d:d  r/terward  that  he  was  the  sole  mover  of  the 
whole  affair. 

As  the  first  confn^on  of  thought  cleared  away,  two  images  of  dis 
tress  loomed  up  and  filled  the  view, — her  aunt,  broken  under  the 
news,  and  Hugh  -still  unknowing  to  them  ;  her  own  separate  exist 
ence  Fleda  was  hardly  conscious  of.  Hugh  especially, — how  was 
he  to  be  toldr  »nd  how  could  he  bear  to  hear?  with  his  most  sensi 
tive  conformation  of  both  physical  and  moral  nature.  And  if  an 
arrest  shou1^  take  place  there  that  night ! — Fleda  shuddered,  and 
unable  to  go  on  thinking  rose  up  and  went  to  her  aunt's  bedside.  It 
had  not  entered  her  mind  till  the  moment  she  read  Mr.  Thorn's 
letter  th^t  Seth  Plumfield  was  sheriff  for  the  county.  She  was  shak 
ing  again  from  head  to  foot  with  fear.  She  could  not  say  anything 
— the  touch  of  her  lips  to  the  throbbing  temples,  soft  and  tender  as 
sympatny  itself,  was  all  she  ventured. 

"  Have  you  heard  anything  of  him  ?  "  Mrs.  Rossitur  whispered. 

«'  No — I  doubt  if  we  do  at  all  to-night." 

'T'here  was  a  half  breatiied  "  Oh  ! — "  of  indescribable  pain  and 
longing;  and  with  a,  restless  change  of  position  Mrs.  Rossitur 
•fathered  herself  up  on  the  bed  and  sat  with  her  head  leaning  on 
wcr  knees.  Fleda  brought  a  large  cloak  and  put  it  round  her. 

"  I  am  in  no  danger,"  she  said, — "  I  wish  I  were  !  " 

Again  Fleda's  lips  softly,  tremblingly,  touched  her  cheek. 

Mrs.  Rossitur  put  her  arm  around  her  and  drew  her  down  to  her 
side,  upon  the  bed  ;  and  wrapped  half  of  the  big  cloak  about  her  ; 
und  they  sat  there  still  in  each  other's  arms,  without  speaking  or 
weeping,  while  quarter  after  quarter  of  an  hour  passed  away, — no- 
foody  knew  how  many.  And  the  cold  bright  moonlight  streamed 
in  on  the  floor,  mocking  them. 

"Go  !  "  whispered  Mrs.  Rossitur  at  last, — "  go  down-stairs,  and 
take  care  of  yourself — and  Hugh." 

"  Won't  you  come?" 

Mrs.  Rossitur  shook  her  head. 

"  Mayn't  I  bring  you  something? — do  let  me!  " 

But  Mrs.  Rossitur' s  shake  of  the  head  was  decisive.  Fleda 
crawled  off  the  bed,  feeling  as  if  a  month's  illness  had  been  making 
its  ravages  upon  her  frame  and  strength.  She  stood  a  moment  to 
collect  her  thoughts  ;  but  alas,  thinking  was  impossible  ;  there  was 
a  palsy  upon  her  mind.  She  went  into  her  own  room  and  for  a 
Biinute  kneeled  down, — not  to  form  a  petition  in  words,  she  was  as 


38« 

much  beyond  that ;  it  was  only  the  mute  attitude  of  appeal,  the 
pitiful  outward  token  of  the  mind's  bearing,  that  could  not  be  for 
borne,  a  silent  uttering  of  the  plea  she  had  made  her  own  in  happy 
days.  There  was  something  of  comfort  in  the  mere  feeling  of  doing 
it  ;  and  there  was  more  in  one  or  two  words  that  even  in  that  bank 
came  to  her  mind  ; — "  Like  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children,  so  the 
Lord  pitieth  them  that  fear  him  ;  '  and  she  again  recollected  that 
"  Providence  runneth  not  upon  broken  wheels."  Nothing  could  be 
darker  than  the  prospect  before  her,  and  these  things  did  not  bring 
light ;  but  they  gave  her  a  sure  stay  to  hold  on  by  and  keep  her 
feet ;  a  bit  of  strength  to  preserve  from  utterly  fainting.  Ah  !  the 
storehouse  must  be  filled  and  the  mind  well  familiarized  with  what 
is  stored  in  it  while  yet  the  days  are  bright,  or  it  will  never  be  able 
to  find  what  it  wants  in  the  dark. 

Fleda  first  went  into  the  kitchen  to  tell  Barby  to  fasten  the  doors 
and  not  sit  up. 

"1  don't  believe  uncle  Rolf  will  be  home  to-night;  but  if  he 
cornes  I  will  let  him  in." 

Barby  looked  at  her  with  absolutely  a  face  of  distress;  but  not 
daring  to  ask  and  not  knowing  how  to  propose  anything,  she  looked 
in  silence. 

"  It  must  be  nine  o'clock  now,"  Fleda  went  on. 

"And  how  long  be  you  going  to  sit  up?  "  said  Barby. 

"  I  don't  know — a  while  yet." 

"  You  look  proper  for  it !  "  said  Barby  half  sorrowfully  and  half 
indignantly  ; — "you  look  as  if  a  straw  would  knock  you  down  this 
minute.  "There's  sense  into  everything.  You  catch  me  agoing 
to  bed  and  leaving  you  up  !  It  won't  do  me  no  hurt  to  sit  here  ihe 
hull  night ;  and  I'm  the  only  one  in  the  house  that's  fit  for  it,  with 
the  exception  of  Philetus,  and  the  little  wit  he  has  by  day  seems  to 
forsake  him  at  night.  All  the  light  that  ever  gets  into  his  head,  1 
believe,  comes  from  the  outside  ;  as  soon  as  ever  that's  gone  he 
shuts  up  his  shutters.  lie's  been  snoozing  a'ready  now  this  hour 
and  a  half.  Go  yourself  off  to  bed,  Fleda,"  she  added  with  a  mix 
ture  of  reproach  and  kindness,  "  and  leave  me  alone  to  take  care 
of  myself  and  the  house  too." 

Fleda  did  Hot  remonstrate,  for  Barby  was  as  determined  in  her 
way  as  it  was  possible  for  anything  to  be.  She  went  into  the  other 
^oom  without  a  particle  of  notion  what  she  should  say  or  do. 

Hugh  was  walking  up  and  down  the  floor — a  most  untisuai 
sign  of  perturbation  with  him.  He  met  and  stopped  her  as  she 
came  in. 

"  yieda,  I  cannot  bear  it.  What  is  the  matter?— Do  you  know?" 
he  said  as  her  eyes  fell. 

"Yes. " 

"What  is  it?" 

She  was  silent  and  tried  to  pass  on  to  the  fire.  But  he  stayed 
her. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"Oh  I  wish  I  could  keep  it  from  you  !  "  said  Fleda  bur«-±::£  irst£ 
tears. 

He  was  still  a  moment,  and  then  bringing  her  to  the  arm-cliai* 
made  her  sit  down,  and  stood  himself  before  her,  silently  waiting, 


390  QUEECPY. 

perhaps  because  he  could  not  speak,  perhaps  from  the  accustomed 
gentle  endurance  of  his  nature.  But  Fleda  was  speechless  too. 

"  You  are  keeping  me  in  distress,"   he  said  at  length. 

"  I  cannot  end  the  distress,  dear  Hugh,"  said  Fleda. 

'•'  She  saw  him  change  color  and  he  stood  motionless  still. 

"  Do  you  remember,"  said  Fleda,  trembling  even  to  her  voice, 
— -"  what  Rutherford  says  about  Providence  '  not  running  on  broken 
wheels '  ?  " 

He  gave  her  no  answer  but  the  intent  look  of  expectation.  Its 
tntentness  paralyzed  Fleda.  She  did  not  know  how  to  go  on.  She 
rose  from  her  chair  and  hung  upon  his  shoulder. 

'•'  Believe  it  now,  if  you  can, — for  oh,  dear  Hugh  ! — we  have 
something  to  try  it." 

11  It  is  strange  my  father  don't  come  home,"  said  he,  supporting 
her  with  tenderness  which  had  very  little  strength  to  help  it, — "  we 
want  him  very  much." 

Whether  or  not  any  unacknowledged  feeling  prompted  this  re 
mark,  some  slight  involuntary  movement  of  Fleda's  made  him  ask 
suddenly, 

"  Is  it  about  him?  " 

He  had  grown  deadly  pale  and  Fleda  answered  eagerly, 

"  Nothing  that  has  happened  to-day — it  is  not  anything  that  has 
happened  to-day — he  is  perfectly  well,  I  trust  and  believe." 

"  But  it  is  about  him  ?  " 

Flsda's  head  sank,  and  she  burst  into  such  an  agony  of  tears  that 
Hugh's  distress  was  for  a  time  divided. 

"  When  did  it  happen,  Fleda?  " 

"  Years  ago." 

"  And  what?  " 

Fleda  hesitated  still,  and  then  said, 

"  It  was  something  he  did,  Hugh." 

"What?" 

"  He  put  another  person's  name  on  the  back  of  a  note  he  gave." 

She  did  not  look  up,  and  Hugh  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

41  Mr.  Thorn  \vrote  it  to  aunt  l.ucy — it  was  Mr.  Thorn's  father." 

Hugh  sat  down  and  leaned  his  head  on  the  table.  A  long,  long, 
dine  passed, — unmeasured  by  the  wild  coursing  of  thought  to  and 
fro.  Then  Fleda  came  and  knelt  down  at  the  table  beside  him,  and 
put  her  arm  round  his  neck. 

11  Dear  Hugh,"  she  said — and  if  ever  love  and  tenderness  and 
sympathy  could  be  distilled  in  tones,  such  drops  were  those  that  fell 
upon  the  mind's  ear, — "  can't  you  look  up  at  me?" 

He  did  then,  but  he  did  not  give  her  a  chance  to  look  at  him.  He 
locked  his  arms  about  her,  bringing  her  close  to  his  breast  ;  and  for 
a  few  minutes,  in  utter  silence,  they  knew  what  strange  sweetness 
pure  affection  can  mingle  even  in  the  communion  of  sorrow.  There 
were  tears  shed  in  those  miqutes  that,  bitter  as  they  seemed  at  the 
time,  Memory  knew  had  been  largely  qualified  with  another  admix 
ture. 

"Dear  Hugh,"  said  Fleda, — "  let  us  keep  what  we  can — won't 
you  go  to  bed  and  rest  ?  ' ' 

He  looked  dreadfully  as  if  he  needed  it.     But  the  usual  calmness 


QUEECHY.  391 

and  sweetness  of  his  face  was  not  altered  ; — it  was  only  deepened 
to  verv  great  sadness.  Mentally,  Fleda  thought,  he  had  borne  the 
shock  better  than  his  mother  ;  for  the  bodily  frame  she  trembled. 
He  had  not  answered  and  she  spoke  again. 

"  You  need  it  worse  than  I,  poor  Fleda." 

"I  will  go  too  presently — I  do  not  think  anybody  will  be  here 
to-night." 

"  Is — Are  there — Is  this  what  has  taken  him  away  ?  "  said  Hugh, 

Her  silence  and  her  look  told  him,  and  then  laying  her  cheek 
again  alongside  of  his  she  whispered,  how  unsteadily,  ••  We  havf 
only  one  help,  dear  Hugh."  , 

They  were  still  and  quiet  again  for  minutes,  counting  the  pulses, 
of  pain  ;  till  Fleda  came  back  to  her  poor  wish  "to  keep  what  they 
could."  She  mixed  a  restorative  of  wine  and  water,  which  how 
ever  little  desired,  she  felt  was  necessary  for  both  of  them,  and 
Hugh  went  np-stairs.  She  staid  a  few  minutes  to  prepare  another 
glass  with  particular  care  for  her  aunt.  It  was  just  finished,  and 
taking  her  candle  she  had  bid  Barby  good-night,  when  there  came 
a  loud  rap  at  the  front  door.  Fleda  set  down  candle  and  glass, 
from  the  quick  inability  to  hold  them  as  well  as  for  other  reasons  ; 
and  she  and  Barby  stood  and  looked  at  each  other,  in  such  a  con 
fusion  of  doubt  and  dread  that  some  little  time  had  passed  before 
either  stirred  even  her  eyes.  Barby  then  threw  down  the  tongs 
with  which  she  had  begun  to  make  preparations  for  covering  up  the 
fire  and  set  off  to  the  front. 

"  You  musn't  open  the  door,  Barby,"  cried  Fleda,  following  her. 
41  Come  in  here  and  let  us  look  out  of  one  of  the  windows." 

Before  this  could  be  reached  however,  there  was  another  prolonged 
repetition  of  the  first  thundering  burst.  It  went  through  Fleda' s 
heart,  because  of  the  two  up-stairs  who  must  hear  it. 

Barby  threw  up  the  sash. 

"Who's  there?" 

"  Is  this  Mr.  Rossitur's  place  ?  "  inquired  a  gruff  voice. 

"  Yes,  it  is." 

"  Well  will  you  come  round  and  open  the  door  ?  *  * 

"  Who  wants  it  open  ?  " 

"  A  lady  wants  it  open." 

"  A  lady  !— what  lady  ?  " 

"  Down  yonder  in  the  carriage." 

"  What  lady  ?  who  is  she  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  who  she  is — she  wanted  to  come  to  Mr.  Rossitur „ 
place — will  you  open  the  door  for  her?" 

Barby  and  Fleda  both  now  saw  a  carriage  standing  in  the  road. 

"  We  must  see  who  it  is  first,"  whispered  Fleda. 

"When  the  lady  comes  I'll  open  the  door,"  was  Barby' s  ulti 
matum. 

The  man  withdrew  to  the  carriage  ;  and  after  a  few  moments  of 
intense  watching  Fleda  and  Barby  certainly  saw  something  in 
female  apparel  enter  the  little  gate  of  the  court-yard  and  come  up 
over  the  bright  moonlit  snow  toward  the  house,  accompanied  by  a 
child  ;  while  the  man  with  whom  they  had  had  the  interview  came 
behind  transformed  into  an  unmistakable  baggage-carrier. 


CHAPTER   XL. 

Zeal  was  the  spring  whence  flowed  her  hardiment. 

FAIRFAX. 

BARBY  undid  bolt  and  lock  and  Fleda  met  the  traveler  in  the 
hall.  She  was  a  lady  ;  her  air  and  dress  showed  that,  though  the 
Matter  was  very  plain. 

'•'  Does  Mr.  Rossitur  live  here  ?"  was  her  first  word. 

Fleda  answered  it,  and  brought  her  visitor  into  the  sitting-room. 
But  the  light  falling  upon  a  form  and  face  that  had  seen  more  wear 
and  tear  than  time,  gave  her  no  clue  as  to  the  who  or  what  of  the 
person  before  her.  The  stranger's  hurried  look  round  the  room 
seemed  to  expect  something. 

"  Are  they  all  gone  to  bed  ?  " 

"  All  but  me,"  said  Fleda. 

"We  have  been  delayed — we  took  a  wrong  road — we've  been 
riding  for  hours  to  find  the  place — hadn't  the  right  direction." — 
Then  looking  keenly  at  Fleda,  from  whose  vision  an  electric  spark 
of  intelligence  had  scattered  the  clouds,  she  said  : 

"  I  am  Marion  Rossitur." 

"I  knew  it!"  said  Fleda,  with  lips  and  eyes  that  gave  her 
already  a  sister's  welcome  ;  and  they  were  folded  in  each  other's 
arms  almost  as  tenderly  and  affectionately,  on  the  part  of  one  at 
least,  as  if  there  had  really  been  the  relationship  between  them. 
But  more  than  surprise  and  affection  struck  Fleda' s  heart. 

"  And  where  are  they  all,  Fleda  ?     Can't  I  see  them  ?  " 

"You  must  wait  till  I  have  prepared  them — Hugh  and  aunt  Lucy 
are  not  very  well.  I  don't  know  that  it  will  do  for  you  to  see  them 
at  all  to-night,  Marion." 

"  Not  to-night !     They  are  not  ill  ?  " 

««  No— only  enough  to  be  taken  care  of— not  ill.  But  it  would 
be  better  to  wait." 

"  And  my  father?  " 

11  He  is  not  at  home." 

Marion  exclaimed  in  sorrow,  and  Fleda  to  hide  the  look  that  she 

It  was  on  her  face  stooped  down  to  kiss  the  child.     He  was  a  re- 
•;}  ark  ably  fine-looking  manly  boy. 

"  That  is  your  cousin  Fleda,"  said  his  mother. 
«  Mo — aunt  Fleda,"    said  the   person   thus  introduced — "  don't 
put  me  off  into  cousindom,  Marion.     I  am  uncle  Hugh's  sister— 
and  so  I  am  your  aunt  Fleda.     Who  are  you?" 

"  Rolf  Rossitur  Sch widen." 

Alas  how  wide  are  the  ramifications  of  evil!  How  was  what 
might  have  been  very  pure  pleasure  utterly  poisoned  and  turned 
into  bitterness.  It  went  through  Fleda' s  heart  with  a  keen  pang 
when  she  heard  that  name  and  looked  on  the  very  fair  brow  that 
owned  it,  and  thought  of  the  ineffaceable  stain  that  had  come  upon 
both.  She  dared  look  at  nobody  but  the  child.  He  already  un 
derstood  the  melting  eyes  that  were  making  acquaintance  with  his, 
and  half  felt  the  pain  that  gave  so  much  tenderness  to  her  kiss,  and 


QUEECHY.  393 

looked  at  her  with  a  grave  face  of  awakening  wonder  and  sympa 
thy.     Fleda  was  glad  to  have  business  to  call  her  into  the  kitchen. 

"Who  is  it  ?  "  was  Barby's  immediate  question. 

"Aunt  Lucy's  daughter." 

"  She  don't  look  much  like  her  !  "  said  Barby  intelligently. 

"  They  will  want  something  to  eat,  Barby." 

"I'll  put  the  kettle  on.  It'll  boil  directly.  I'll  go  in  there  and 
fix  up  the  fire." 

A  word  or  two  more,  and  then  Fleda  ran  up  to  speak  to  her  aunt 
and  Hugh. 

Her  aunt  she  found  in  a  state  of  agitation  that  was  frightful 
Even  Fleda's  assurances,  with  all  the  soothing  arts  she  could  bring 
to  bear  were  some  minutes  before  they  could  in  any  measure  tran- 
quilize  her.  Fleda's  o\\'fi  nerves  were  in  no  condition  to  stand 
another  shock  when  she  left  her  and  went  to  Hugh's  door.  But 
she  could  get  no  answer  from  him  though  she  spoke  repeatedly. 

She  did  not  return  to  her  aunt's  room.  She  went  down-stairs 
and  brought  up  Barby  and  a  light  from  thence. 

Hugh  was  lying  senseless  and  white  ;  not  whiter  than  his  adopted 
sister  as  she  stood  by  his  side.  Her  eye  went  to  her  companion. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it!  "  said  Barby — "he's  in  nothing  but  a  faint — 
just  run  down-stairs  and  get  the  vinegar  bottle,  Fleda — the  pepper 
vinegar. — Is  there  any  water  here? — " 

Fleda  obeyed  ;  and  watched,  she  could  little  more,  the  efforts  of 
Barby,  who  indeed  needed  no  help,  with  the  cold  water,  the 
vinegar,  and  rubbing  of  the  limbs.  They  were  for  some  time  un 
successful  ;  the  fit  was  a  severe  one  ;  and  Fleda  was  exceedingly 
terrified  before  any  signs  of  returning  life  came  to  reassure  her. 

"Now  you  go  down-stairs  and  keep  quiet!  "  said  Barby,  when 
Hugh  was  fairly  restored  and  had  smiled  a  faint  answer  to  Fleda's 
kiss  and  explanations, — "  Go  Fleda!  you  ain't  fit  to  stand.  Go 
and  sit  down  some  place,  and  I'll  be  along  directly  and  see  how 
the  fire  burns.  Don't  you  s'pose  Mis'  Rossitur  could  come  in  and 
sit  in  this  easy  chair  a  spell  without  hurting  herself?  " 

It  occurred  to  Fleda  immediately  that  it  might  do  more  good 
than  harm  to  her  aunt  if  her  attention  were  diverted  even  by  an 
other  cause  of  anxiety.  She  gently  summoned  her,  telling  her  no 
more  than  was  necessary  to  fit  her  for  being  Hugh's  nurse  ;  and  in 
a  very  few  minutes  she  and  Barby  were  at  liberty  to  attend  to  other 
claims  upon  them.  But  it  sank  into  her  heart,  "  Hugh  will  not  get 
over  this!" — and  when  she  entered  the  sitting-room,  what  Mr. 
Carleton  years  before  had  said  of  the  wood-flower  was  come  true 
in  its  fullest  extent — "  a  storm  wind  had  beaten  it  to  the  ground." 

She  was  able  literally  to  do  no  more  than  Barby  had  said,  sit 
down  and  keep  herself  quiet.  Miss  Elster  was  in  her  briskest 
mood  ;  few  in  and  out  ;  make  up  the  fire  in  the  sitting-room  and 
put  on  the  kettle  in  the  kitchen,  which  she  had  been  just  about 
doing  when  called  to  see  Hugh.  The  much-needed  supper  of  the 
travelers  must  be  still  waited  for  ;  but  the  fire  was  burning  now,  the 
room  was  cosily  warm  and  bright,  and  Marion  drew  up  her  chair 
with  a  look  of  thoughtful  contentment.  Fleda  felt  as  if  some  con- 
juroi  had  been  at  work  there  for  the  last  few  hours — the  room 
looked  so  like  and  felt  so  unlike  itself. 


894  QUEECHY. 

"  Are  you  going  to  be  ill  too,  Fleda?"  said  Marion  suddenly. 
"  You  are  looking — very  far  from  well !  " 

"I  shall  have  a  headache  to-morrow,"  said  Fleda  quietly.  "I 
generally  know  the  day  beforehand." 

"  Does  it  always  make  you  look  so?" 

"  Not  always — I  am  somewhat  tired." 

"  Where  is  my  father  gone  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know. — Rolf,  dear,"  said  Fleda  bending  forward  to  the 
little  fellow  who  was  giving  expression  to  some  very  fidgety  impa» 
tience, — "what  is  the  matter?  what  do  you  want?" 

The  child's  voice  fell  a  little  from  its  querulousness  toward  the 
srweet  key  in  which  the  questions  had  been  put,  but  he  gave  utter* 
ance  to  a  very  decided  wish  for  "  bread  and  butter." 

"  Come  here,"  said  Fleda,  reaching  out  a  hand  and  drawing 
him,  certainly  with  no  force  but  that  of  attraction,  toward  her  easy 
chair, — "  come  here  and  rest  yourself  in  this  nice  place  by  me — 
see,  there  is  plenty  of  room  for  you  ; — and  you  shall  have  bread 
and  butter  and  tea,  and  something  else  too,  I  guess,  just  as  soon  as 
Barby  can  get  it  ready." 

"  Who  is  Barby  ?"  was  the  next  question,  in  a  most  uncompro 
mising  tone  of  voice. 

"  You  saw  the  woman  that  came  in  to  put  wood  on  the  fire — that 
was  Barby — she  is  very  good  and'kind  and  \\ill  do  anything  for 
you  if  you  behave  yourself." 

The  child  muttered,  but  so  low  as  to  show  some  unwillingness 
that  his  words  should  reach  the  ears  that  were  nearest  him,  that 
"  he  wasn't  going  to  behave  himself." 

Fleda  did  not  choose  to  hear  ;  and  went  on  with  composing  ob 
servations  till  the  fair  little  face  she  had  drawn  to  her  side  was  as 
bright  as  the  sun  and  returned  her  smile  with  interest. 

"You  have  an  admirable  talent  at  moral  suasion,  Fleda,  '  said 
Ihe  mother  half  smiling  ; — "  I  wish  I  had  it." 

"You  don't  need  it  so  much  here." 

"Why  not?" 

"  It  may  do  very  well  for  me,  but  I  think,  not  so  well  for  you." 

"  Why  ? — what  do  you  mean  ?  I  think  it  is  the  only  way  in  the 
world  to  bring  up  children — the  only  way  fit  for  rational  beings  to 
be  guided." 

Fleda  smiled,  though  the  faintest  indication  that  lips  could  give, 
and  shook  her  head, — ever  so  little. 

"  Why  do  you  do  that  ? — tell  me." 

"  Because  in  my  limited  experience,"  said  Fleda  as  she  passed 
her  fingers  through  the  boy's  dark  locks  of  hair, — "  in  every  house 
hold  where  '  moral  suasion  '  has  been  the  law,  the  children  have 
been  the  administrators  of  it.  Where  is  your  husband  ?  " 

"I  have  lost  him— years  ago — "  said  Marion  with  a  quick  ex 
pressive  glance  toward  the  child.  "  I  never  lost  what  I  at  firs! 
thought  I  had,  for  I  never  had  it.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

Fleda's  eyes  gave  a  sufficient  answer. 

"  I  am  a  widow — these  five  years — in  all  but  what  the  law  would 
require,"  Marion  went  on.  "  I  have  been  alone  since  then— except 
my  child.  He  was  two  years  old  then  ;  and  since  then  I  have  lived 
iuch  a  life.  Fleda!—" 


395 

"  Why  aiun  t  you  come  nome  f  ** 

"  Couldn't — the  most  absolute  reason  in  the  world.  Think  ofitf 
P— Come  home  !  It  was  as  much  as  I  could  do  to  stay  there  !  " 

Those  sympathizing  eyes  were  enough  to  make  her  go  on. 

"  I  have  wanted  everything— except  trouble.  I  have  done  every, 
thing— except  ask  alms.  I  have  learned,  Fleda,— that  death  is  not 
the  worst  form  in  which  distress  can  come." 

Fleda  felt  stung,  and  bent  down  her  head  to  touch  hei  lips  to  the 
brow  of  little  Rolf. 

"  Death  would  have  been  a  trifle  !  "  said  Marion.     "  I  mean,— 
not  that   /  should  have  wished  to  leave  Rolf  alone  in  the  world  „. 
but  if  I  had  been  left— I  mean  I  would  rather  wear  outside  than  i 
ade  mourning." 

Fleda  looked  up  again,  and  at  her. 

"  O  I  was  so  mistaken,  Fleda  !"  she  said  clasping  her  hands, — "so 
mistaken  ! — in  everything  ; — so  disappointed, — in  all  my  hopes. 
And  the  loss  of  my  fortune  was  the  cause  of  it  all." 

Nay  verily  !  thought  Fleda  ;  but  she  said  nothing  ;  she  hung  her 
htad  again  ;  andMarion  after  a  pause  went  on  to  question  her  about 
an  endless  string  of  matters  concerning  themselves  and  other  peo 
ple,  past  doings  and  present  prospects,  till  little  Rolf  soothed  by  the 
uninteresting  soft  murmur,  of  voices  fairly  forgot  bread  and  butter 
and  himself  in  a  sound  sleep,  his  head  resting  upon  Felda. 

"  Here  is  one  comfort  for  you,  Marion,"  she  said  looking  down 
at  the  dark  eyelashes  which  lay  on  a  cheek  rosy  and  healthy  as  ever 
seven  years  old  knew  ;— "  he  is  a  beautiful  child,  and  I  am  sure,  a 
fine  one." 

"  It  is  thanks  to  his  beauty  that  I  have  ever  seen  home  again," 
said  his  mother. 

Fleda  had  no  heart  this  evening  to  speak  words  that  were  not 
necessary  ;  her  eyes  asked  Marion  to  explain  herself. 

"  He  was  in  Hyde  Park  one  day — I  had  a  miserable  lodging  not 
far  from  it,  and  I  used  to  let  him  go  in  there,  because  he  must  go 
somewhere,  you  know, — I  couldn't  go  with  him—" 

"Why  not?  " 

"  Couldn't ! — Oh    Fleda  ! — I    have   seen   changes  ! He   was 

there  one  afternoon,  alone,  and  had  got  into  difficulty  with  soir 
bigger  boys — a  little  fellow,  you  know, — he  stood  his  ground  man 
fully  but  his  strength  wasn't  equal  to  his  spirit,  and  they  wen 
tyrannizing  over  him  after  the  fashion  of  boys,  who  are  I  do  thin! 
;he  ugliest  creatures  in  creation!  "  said  Mme.  Schwiden,  not  ap< 
parently  reckoning  her  own  to  be  of  the  same  gender, — "  and  a 
gentleman  who  was  riding  by  stopped  and  interfered  and  took  him. 
out  of  their  hands,  and  then  asked  him  his  name, — struck  I  sup 
pose  with  his  appearance.  Very  kind,  wasn't  it?  men  so  seldom 
bother  themselves  about  what  becomes  of  children.  I  suppose  there 
were  thousands  of  others  riding  by  at  the  same  time." 

'•  Very  kind/'  Fleda  said. 

'"When  he  heard   what  his   naine  was  he  gave  his  horse  «o  >••:. 
servant  and   walked  home  with  Rolf  ;  and  the  next  day  lie  se:  - 
a  note,  speaking  of  having  known  my  father  and  mother  aiui  - 
permission  to  call  upon  me. — I  never  was  so  mortified,  I  think,  ii. 
my  life,"  said  Marion  after  a  moment' s hesitation. 


"  Why  ?  "  saia  Fleda,  not  a  little  at  a  loss  to  follow  out  the 
oi  her  cousin's  reasoning. 

1/1  Why  I  was  in  such  a  sort  of  a  place — you  don't  know,  Fleda; 
I  was  working  then  for  a  fancy  store -keeper,  to  support  myself— 
living  in  a  miserable  little  two  rooms.— If  it  had  been  a  stranger  I 
wouldn't  have  cared  so  much,  but  somebody  that  had  known  us  in 
different  times — I  hadn't  a  thing  in  the  world  to  answer  the  note 
upon  but  a  half  a  sheet  of  letter  paper." 

Fieda's  lips  sought  Rolf's  forehead  again,  with  a  curious  rush  of 
:ears  and  smiles  at  once.  Perhaps  Marion  had  caught  the  ex 
pression  of  her  countenance,  for  she  added  with  a  little  energy, 

"It  is  nothing  to  be  surprised  at — you  would  have  felt  just  the 
same  ;  for  I  knew  by  this  note,  the  whole  style  of  it,  what  sort  z 
person  it  must  be." 

"  My  pride  has  been  a  good  deal  chastened,"  Fleda  said  gently, 

cl  I  never  want  mine  to  be,  beyond  minding  everything,"  said 
Marion  ;  "  and  I  don't  believe  yours  is.  I  don't  know  why  in  the 
world  I  did  not  refuse  to  see  him — I  had  fifty  minds  to — but  he  had 
won  Rolfs  heart,  and  I  was  a  little  curious,  and  it  was  something 
strange  to  see  the  face  of  a  friend,  any  better  one  than  my  old  land 
lady,  so  I  let  him  come." 

"  Was  she  a  friend  ?  "  said  Fleda. 

"  If  she  hadn't  been  I  should  not  have  lived  to  be  here — the  best 
soul  that  ever  was  ;  but  still,  you  know,  she  could  do  nothing  for  me 
but  be  as  kind  as  she  could  live  ; — this  was  something  different.  So 
I  let  him  come,  and  he  came  the  next  day." 

Fleda  was  silent,  a  little  wondering  that  Marion  should  be  so 
frank  with  her,  beyond  what  she  had  ever  been  in  former  years  ; 
but  as  she  guessed,  Mme.  Schwiden's  heart  was  a  little  opened  by 
the  joy  of  finding  herself  at  home  and  the  absolute  necessity  of 
talking  to  somebody ;  and  there  was  a  further  reason  which  Fleda 
could  not  judge  of,  in  her  own  face  and  manner.  Marion  needed 
no  questions  and  went  on  again  after  stopping  a  moment. 

"  I  was  so  glad  in  five  minutes, — I  can't  tell  you,  Fleda, — that  I 
had  let  him  come.  I  forgot  entirely  about  how  I  looked  and  the 
wretched  place  I  was  in.  He  was  all  that  I  had  supposed,  and  a 
great  deal  more,  but  somehow  he  hadn't  been  in  the  room  three 
minutes  before  I  didn't  care  at  all  for  all  the  things  I  had  thought 
would  trouble  me.  Isn't  it  strange  wliat  a  witchery  some  people 
have  to  make  you  forget  everything  but  themselves ! 

"  The  reason  is,  I  think,  because  that  is  the  only  thing  they 
forget,"  said  Fleda,  whose  imagination  however  was  entirely  busy 
with  the  singular  number. 

"  I  shall  never  forget  him,"  said  Marion.  "  He  was  very  kind  to 
me — I  cannot  tell  how  kind — though  I  never  realized  it  till  after 
ward  ;  at  the  time  it  always  seemed  only  a  sort  of  elegant  polite* 
ness  which  he  could  not  help.  I  never  saw  so  elegant  a  person. 
He  came  two  or  three  times  to  see  me  and  he  took  Rolf  out  with 
him  I  don't  know  how  often,  to  drive  ;  and  he  sent  me  fruit — 
such  fruit ! — and  game,  and  flowers  ;  and  I  had  not  had  anything 
of  the  kind,  not  even  seen  it,  for  so  long — I  can't  tell  you  what  it 
was  to  me.  He  said  he  had  known  roy  father  and  mother  well 
they  were  abroad." 


QUEECHY.  '  8W 

M  What  wa»  m»  name  ?  "  said  Fleda  quickly. 

"  I  don't  know — he  never  told  me — and  I  never  could  ask  him. 
Don't  you  know  there  are  some  people  you  can't  do  anything  with 
but  just  what  they  please?  There  wasn't  the  least  thing  like  stiff 
ness — you  never  saw  anybody  less  stiff, — but  I  never  dreamed  of 
asking  him  questions  except  when  he  was  out  of  sight.  Why,  do 
you  knov\  him?"  she  said  suddenly. 

"WheR  you  tell  me  who  he  was  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Fled? 
smiling. 

"  Have:  you  ever  heard  this  story  before?  " 

"  Certainly  not  I  " 

4  •  He  is  somebody  that  knows  us  very  well,"  said  Marion,  "  for  he 
asked  after  every  one  of  the  family  in  particular." 

"  But  what  had  all  this  to  do  with  your  getting  home  ?  '* 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  ask.  The  day  after  his  last  visit  came  a 
note  saying  that  he  owed  a  debt  in  my  family  which  it  had  never 
been  in  his  power  to  repay  ;  that  he  could  not  give  the  enclosure  to 
my  father  who  would  not  recognize  the  obligation  ;  and  that  if  1 
would  permit  him  to  place  it  in  my  hands  I  should  confer  a  singular 
favor  upon  him." 

"  And  what  was  the  enclosure  ?  " 

"  Five  hundred  pounds." 

Fleda's  head  went  down  again  and  tears  dropped  fast  upon  little 
Rolf's  shoulder. 

"I  suppose  my  pride  has  been  a  little  broken  too,"  Marion 
went  on,  "  or  I  shouldn't  have  kept  it.  But  then  if  you  saw  the 
person,  and  the  whole  manner  of  it — I  don't  know  how  I  could  ever 
have  sent  it  back.  Literally  I  couldn't,  though,  for  I  hadn't  the 
least  clue.  I  never  saw  or  heard  from  him  afterward." 

"  When  was  this,  Marion  ?" 

"  Last  spring." 

"  Last  spring  \ — then  what  kept  you  so  long  ?  " 

••  Because  of  the  arrival  of  eyes  that  I  was  afraid  of.  I  dared 
not  make  the  least  move  that  would  show  I  could  move.  I  came 
off  the  very  first  packet  after  I  was  free." 

"  How  glad  you  must  be  r  "  said  Fleda. 

"Glad!— " 

*  Glad  of  what,  mamma?  "  said  Rolf,  whose  dreams  the  entrance 
:i  Barby  had  probably  disturbed. 

'Glad  of  bread  and  butter/'  said  his  mother;  "wake  up — here 
*is." 

The  young  gentleman  declared,  rubbing  his  eyes,  that  he  did  not 
want  it  now  ;  but  however  Fleda  contrived  to  dispel  that  illusion, 
and  bread  and  butter  was  found  to  have  the  same  dulcifying  prop 
erties  at  Queechy  that  it  owns  in  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  Little 
Rolf  was  completely  mollified  after  a  hearty  tneal  and  was  put  with 
his  mother  to  enjoy  most  unbroken  slumbers  in  Fleda's  room. 
Fleda  herself,  after  a  look  at  Hugh,  crept  to  her  aunt  s  bed; 
whither  Barby  very  soon  despatched  Mrs.  Rossitur,  taking  in  her 
place  the  arm-chair  and  the  watch  with  most  invincible  good-will 
and  determination  ;  and  sleep  at  last  took  the  joys  and  sorrows  of 
that  disturbed  household  into  its  kind  custody. 

Fleda  w*s  the  first  one  awake,  and  was  thinking  how  she 


598  QUEECHY. 

break  the  last  news  to  her  aunt,  when  Mrs.  Rossitur  put  her  arm» 
round  her  and  after  a  most  affectionate  look  and  kiss,  spoke  to  what 
she  supposed  had  been  her  niece's  purpose. 

"  You  want  taking  care  of  more  than  I  do,  poor  Fleda  !  " 

"  It  was  not  for  that  I  came,"  said  Fleda  ; — "  1  had  to  give  up 
my  room  to  the  travelers. ' ' 

"  Travelers  ! — " 

A  very  few  words  more  brought  out  the  whole,  and  Mrs.  Rossitur 
sprang  out  of  bed  and  rushed  to  her  daughter's  room. 

Fleda  hid  her  face  in  the  bed  to  cry — for  a  moment's  passionate 
indulgence  in  weeping  while  no  one  could  see.  But  a  momcn' 
was  all.  There  was  work  to  do  and  she  must  not  disable  herself, 
She  slowly  got  up,  feeling  thankful  that  her  headache  did  not  an, 
nounce  itself  with  the  dawn,  and  that  she  would  be  able  to  attend 
to  the  morning  affairs  and  the  breakfast,  which  was  something  more 
of  a  circumstance  now  with  the  new  additions  to  the  family.  MdVe 
than  that  she  knew  from  sure  signs  she  would  not  be  able  to  accom 
plish. 

It  was  all  done  and  done  well,  though  with  what  secret  flagging  of 
mind  and  body  nobody  knew  or  suspected.  The  business  of  the 
day  was  arranged,  Barby's  course  made  clear,  Hugh  visited  and 
smiled  upon  ;  and  then  Fleda  set  herself  down  in  the  breakfast- 
room  to  wear  out  the  rest  of  the  day  in  patient  suffering.  Her  little 
spaniel,  who  seemed  to  understand  her  languid  step  and  faint  tones 
and  know  what  was  coming,  crept  into  her  lap  and  looked  up  at 
her  with  a  face  of  equal  truth  and  affection  ;  and  after  a  few  gentle 
acknowledging  touches  from  the  loved  hand,  laid  his  head  on  her 
knees,  and  silently  avowed  his  determination  of  abiding  her  fortunes 
for  the  remainder  of  the  day. 

They  had  been  there  for  some  hours.  Mrs.  Rossitur  and  her 
daughter  were  gathered  in  Hugh's  room  ;  whither  Rolf  also  after 
sundry  expressions  of  sympathy  for  Fleda's  headache,  finding  it  a 
dull  companion,  had  departed.  Pain  of  body  rising  above  pain  of 
mind  had  obliged  as  far  as  possible  even  thought  to  be  still ;  when 
a  loud  rap  at  the  front  door  brought  the  blood  in  a  sudden  flush  of 
pain  to  Fleda's  face.  She  knew  instinctively  what  it  meant. 

She  heard  Barby's  distinct  accents  saying  that  somebody  was 
"  not  well."  The  other  voice  was  more  smothered.  But  in  a  mo 
ment  the  door  of  the  breakfast-room  opened  and  Mr.  Thorn  walked 
:;n. 

The  intensity  of  the  pain  she  was  suffering  effectually  precluded 
Fleda  from  discovering  emotion  of  any  kind.  She  could  not  move. 
Only  King  lifted  up  his  head  and  looked  at  the  intruder,  who  seemed 
shocked,  and  well  he  might.  Fleda  was  in  her  old  headache 
position  ;  bolt  upright  on  the  sofa,  her  feet  on  the  rung  of  a  chair 
while  her  hands  supported  her  by  their  grasp  upon  the  back  of  it. 
The  flush  had  passed  away  leaving  the  deadly  paleness  of  pain, 
which  the  dark  rings  under  her  eyes  showed  to  be  well  seated. 

"Miss  Ringgan  !  "  said  the  gentleman,  coming  up  softly  as  to 
something  that  frightened  him, — "my  dear  Miss  Fleda! — I  am 
distressed  ! — You  are  very  ill — can  nothing  be  done  to  relieve 
you?" 

Fleda's  lips  rather  than  her  voice  said  "  Nothing- " 


QUEECHT.  3*9 

'•  I  would  not  have  come  in  on  any  account  to  disturb  you  it  I 
had  known — I  did  not  understand  you  were  more  than  a  trifle 

ill—" 

Fleda  wished  he  $ould  mend  his  mistake,  as  his  understanding 
certainly  by  this  time  was  mended.  But  that  did  not  seem  to  be 
his  conclusion  of  the  best  thing  to  do. 

'•  Since  I  am  here, — can  you  bear  to  hear  me  say  three  words  ? 
without  too  much  pain  ? — I  do  not  ask  you  to  speak  " — 

A  faint  whispered  "yes"  gave  him  leave  to  go  on.  She  haf 
never  looked  at  him.  She  sat  like  a  statue  ;  to  answer  by  a  motio* 
of  her  head  was  more  than  could  be  risked. 

He  drew  up  a  chair  and  sat  down,  while  King  looked  at  him 
with  eyes  of  suspicious  indignation. 

"  I  am  not  surprised,"  he  said  gently,  "to  find  you  suffering.  I 
knew  how  your  sensibilities  must  feel  the  shock  of  yesterday — I 
would  fain  have  spared  it  you — I  will  spare  you  all  further  pain  on 
the  same  score  if  possible — Dear  Miss  Ringgan,  since  I  am  here  and 
time  is  precious  may  I  say  one  word  before  I  cease  troubling  you — 
I  take  it  for  granted  that  you  were  made  acquainted  with  the  contents 
of  my  letter  to  Mrs.  Rossitur  ? — with  all  the  contents? — were 
you  ?  " 

Again  Fleda' s  lips  almost  voicelessly  gave  the  answer. 

"  Will  you  give  me  what  I  ventured  to  ask  for  ?  "  said  he  gently, 
— "  the  permission  to  work  for  you  ?  Do  not  trouble  those  precious 
lips  to  speak — the  answer  of  these  fingers  will  be  as  sure  a  warrant 
to  me  as  all  words  that  could  be  spoken  that  you  do  not  deny  my 
request." 

He  had  taken  one  of  her  hands  in  his  own.  But  the  fingers  lay 
with  unanswering  coldness  and  lifelessness  for  a  second  in  his  clasp 
and  then  were  drawn  away  and  took  determinate  hold  of  the  chair- 
back.  "Again  the  flush  came  to  Fleda' s  cheeks,  brought  by  a  sharp 
pain, — oh,  bodily  and  mental  too  ! — and  after  a  moment's  pause, 
with  a  distinctness  of  utterance  that  let  him  know  every  word,  she 
said, 

"  A  generous  man  would  not  ask  it,  sir." 

Thorn  sprang  up,  and  several  times  paced  the  length  of  the 
room,  up  and  down,  before  he  said  anything  more.  He  looked  at 
Fleda,  but  the  flush  was  gone  again,  and  nothing  could  seem  less 
conscious  of  his  presence.  Pain  and  patience  were  in  every  line  of 
ler  face,  but  he  could  read  nothing  more,  except  a  calmness  as  un* 
nistakably  written.  Thorn  gave  that  face  repeated  glances  as  he. 
walked,  then  stood  still  and  read  it  at  leisure.  Then  he  came  to 
her  side  again  and  spoke  in  a  different  voice. 

"You  are  so  unlike  anybody  else,"  he  said,  "  that  you  shall 
make  me  unlike  myself.  I  will  do  freely  what  I  hoped  to  do  with 
the  light  of  your  smile  before  me.  You  shall  hear  no  more  of  this 
affair,  neither  you  nor  the  world — I  have  the  matter  perfectly  in 
my  own  hands — it  shall  never  raise  a  whisper  again.  I  will  move 
heaven  and  earth  rather  than  fail — but  there  is  no  danger  of  my 
failing.  I  will  try  to  prove  myself  worthy  of  your  esteem  even 
where  a  man  is  most  excusable  for  being  selfish."' 

He  took  one  of  her  cold  hands  again, — Fleda  could  not  help  it 
without  more  force  than  she  cared  to  use,  and  indeed  pain  would  by 


400 

this  time  almost  have  swallowed  up  other  sensation  if  every  word 
and  touch  had  not  sent  it  in  a  stronger  throb  to  her  very  finger- 
ends.  Thorn  bent  his  lips  to  her  hand,  twice  kissed  it  fervently, 
and  then  left  her;  much  to  King's  satisfaction,  who  thereupon  re 
signed  himself  to  quiet  slumbers.  <?• 

His  mistress  knew  no  such  relief.  Excitement  had  dreadfully 
aggravated  her  disorder,  at  a  time  when  it  was  needful  to  banish 
even  thought  as  far  as  possible.  Pain  effectually  banished  it  now, 
and  Barby  coming  in  a  little  after  Mr.  Thorn  had  gone  found  her 
quite  unable  to  speak  and  scarce  able  to  breathe,  from  agony. 
Barby's  energies  and  fainting  remedies  vere  again  put  in  use  ;  but 
pain  reigned  triumphant  for  hours,  and  when  its  hard  rule  was 
at  last  abated  Fleda  was  able  to  do  nothing  but  sleep  like  a  child 
for  hours  more. 

Toward  a  late  tea-time  she  was  at  last  awake,  and  carrying  on  a 
very  one-sided  conversation  with  Rolf,  her  own  lips  being  called 
upon  for  little  more  than  a  smile  now  and  then.  King,  not  able 
to  be  in  her  lap,  had  curled  himself  up  upon  a  piece  of  his  mis 
tress's  dress  and  as  close  within  the  circle  of  her  arms  as  possible, 
where  Fleda' s  hand  and  his  head  were  on  terms  of  mutual  satisfac 
tion. 

"  I  thought  you  wouldn't  permit  a  dog  to  i>e  in  your  lap,"  said 
Marion. 

"Do  you  remember  that?"  said  Fleda  with  a  smile.  "Ah  I 
have  grown  tender-hearted,  Marion,  since  I  have  known  what  it 
was  to  want  comfort  myself.  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
it  is  best  to  let  everything  have  all  the  enjoyment  it  can  in  the  cir 
cumstances.  King  crawled  into  my  lap  one  day  when  I  had  not 
spirits  enough  to  turn  him  out,  and  he  has  kept  the  place  ever  since. 
— Little  King!  " — 

In  answer  to  which  word  of  intelligence  King  looked  in  her  face 
and  wagged  his  tail  and  then  earnestly  endeavored  to  lick  all  her 
fingers.  Which  however  was  a  piece  of  comfort  she  would  not  give 
him. 

"  Fleda,"  said  Barby  putting  her  head  in,  "  I  wish  you'd  just  step 
out  here  and  tell  me  which  cheese  you'd  like' to  have  cut." 

"What  a  fool!"  said  Marion.  "Let  her  cut  them  all  if  she 
likes." 

"  She  is  no  fool,"  said  Fleda.  She  thought  Barby's  punctilious 
ness  however  a  little  ill-timed,  as  she  rose  from  her  sofa  and  went 
into  the  kitchen. 

"Well  you  do  look  as  if  you  wa'n't  good  for  nothing  but  to  be 
taken  care  of!"  said  Barby.  "  I  wouldn't  have  riz  you  up  if  it 
hadn't  been  just  tea-time,  and  I  knowed  you  couldn't  stay  quiet 
much  longer  ;  " — and  with  a  look  which  explained  her  tactics  she 
put  into  Fleda1  s  hand  a  letter  directed  to  her  aunt. 

"  Philetus  give  it  to  me,"  she  said,  without  a  glance  at  Fleda's 
face,— "he  said  it. was  give  to  him  by  a  spry  little  shaver  who 
wa'n't  a  mind  to  tell  nothin*  about  himself." 

"Thank  you,  Barby!"  was  Fleda's  most  grateful  return;  and 
summoning  her  aunt  up-stairs  she  took  her  into  her  own  room 
and  locked  the  door  before  she  gave  her  the  letter  which  Barby's 
shrewdness  and  delicacy  had  taken  such  care  should  not  reach 


QUEECIIY.  401 

Its  owner  in  a  wrong  way.  Fleda  watched  her  as  hei-  eye  ran 
over  the  paper  and  caught  it  as  it  fell  from  her  fingers. 

*'  MY  DEAR  WIFE, 

"  That  villain  Thorn  has  got  a  handle  of  me  which  he  will  not 
fail  to  use— you  know  it  all  I  suppose,  by  this  time — It  is  true 
that  in  an  evil  hour,  long  ago,  when  greatly  pressed,  I  did  what 
I  thought  I  should  surely  undo  in  a  few  days— The  time  never 

came I    don't    know  why  he   has    let    it  lie  so  long,  but  he  has 

,;aken  it  up  now,  and  he  will  push  it  to  the  extreme — There  is  bui 
sme  thing  left  for  me — I  shall  not  see  you  again.  The  rasca 
ivould  never  let  me  rest,  I  know,  in  any  spot  that  calls  its«i. 
American  ground. 

"You  will  do  better  without  me  than  with  me. 

"R.  R." 

Fleda  mused  over  the  letter  for  several  minutes,  and  then  touched 
her  aunt  who  had  fallen  on  a  chair  with  her  head  sunk  in  her 
hands. 

"What  does  he  mean?"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur,  looking  up  with  a 
perfectly  colorless  face. 

"To  leave  the  country." 

"  Are  you  sure?  is  that  it  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Rossitur  rising  and  look- 
mg  over  the  words  again  ; — "  He  would  do  anything,  Fleda — 

"  That  is  what  he  means,  aunt  Lucy  ; — don't  you  see  he  says  he 
could  not  be  safe  anywhere  in  America." 

Mrs.  Rossitur  stood  eying  with  intense  eagerness  for  a  minute  or 
two  the  note  in  her  niece's  hand. 

"  Then  he  is  gone !  now  that  it  is  all  settled  ! — And  we  don't 
know  where — and  we  can't  get  word  to  him — " 

Her  cheek  which  had  a  little  brightened  became  perfectly  white 
again,  .. 

"  He  isn't  gone  yet — he  can't  be — he  cannot  have  left  Queechy 
till  to-day — he  will  be  in  New  York  for  several  days  yet  probably.'' 

"  New  York  ! — it  may  be  Boston  ?  " 

••  No,  he  would  be  more  likely  to  go  to  New  York — I  am  sure  he 
would — he  is  accustomed  to  it." 

"  We  might  write  to  both  places,"  said  poor  Mrs.  Rossitur.  "  I 
will  do  it  and  send  them  off  at  once." 

"  But  he  might  not  get  the  letters,"  said  Fleda  thoughtfully, — te  he 
Slight  not  dare  to  ask  at  the  post-office." 

His  wife  looked  at  that  possibility,  and  then  wrung  her  hands. 

•«  Oh  why  didn't  he  give  us  a  clue  !  " 

Fleda  put  an  arm  round  her  affectionately  and  stood  thinking ; 
stood  trembling  might  as  well  be  said,  for  she  was  too  weak  to  be 
standing  at  all. 

"  What  can  we  do  dear  Fleda  !  "  said  Mrs.  Rossitur  in  great  dis 
tress.  "  Once  out  of  New  York  and  we  can  get  nothing  to  him  !  If 
he  only  knew  that  there  is  no  need,  and  that  it  is  all  over  ! — 

"We  must  do  everything,  aunt  Lucy,"  said  Fleda  thoughtfully, 
•and  I  hope  we  shall  succeed  yet.  We  will  write,  but  I  think  the 
most  hopeful  other  thing  we  could  do  would  be  to  put  advertise* 
ments  in  the  newspapers — he  would  be  very  likely  to  see  them." 


402  QUEECHT. 

ef  Advertisements! — But  you  couldn't — what  would  you  put?n'v 

"  Something  that  would  catch  his  eye  and  nobody's  else — that  IB 
easy,  aunt  Lucy." 

"  But  there  is  nobody  to  put  them  in,  Fleda, — you  said  uncle  Orris 
was  going  to  Boston — " 

"  lie  wasn't  going  there  till  next  week,  but  he  was  to  be  in  Phila« 
delphia  a  few  days  before  that — the  letter  might  miss  him." 

"  Mr.  Plumfield  !— Couldn't  he  ?  " 

But  Fleda  shook  her  head. 

"  Wouldn't  do,  aunt  Lucy — he  would  do  all  he  could,  but  h* 
ion't  know  New  York  nor  the  papers — he  wouldn't  know  how  tc 
-nanage  it — he  don't  know  uncle  Rolf— I  shouldn't  like  to  trust  it  10 
rum." 

"  Who  then? — there  isn't  a  creature  we  could  ask — " 

Fleda  laid  her  cheek  to  her  poor  aunt's  and  said, 

"  I'll  do  it." 

"  But  you  must  be  in  New  York  to  do  it,  dear  Fleda, — you  can'i 
do  it  here." 

"  I  will  go  to  New  York/ 

"When?" 

"  To-morrow  morning." 

"But  dear  Fleda,  you  can't  go  alone?  I  can't  let  you  ;  and 
you're  not  fit  to  go  at  all,  my  poor  child  ! — "  and  between  con 
flicting  feelings  Mrs.  Rossitur  sat  down  and  wept  without  measure. 

"  Listen,  aunt  Lucy,"  said  Fleda  pressing  a  hand  on  her  shoulder, 
— "  listen,  and  don't  cry  so ! — I'll  go  and  make  all  right,  if  efforts 
can  do  it.  I  am  not  going  alone — I'll  get  Seth  to  go  with  me  ;  and 
I  can  sleep  in  the  cars  and  rest  nicely  in  the  steamboat — I  shall  feel 
happy  and  well  when  I  know  that  I  am  leaving  you  easier  and  do 
ing  all  that  can  be  done  to  bring  uncle  Rolf  home.  Leave  rne  to 
manage,  and  don't  say  anything  to  Marion, — it  is  one  blessed  thing 
that  she  need  not  know  anything  about  all  this.*  I  shall  feel  better 
than  if  I  were  at  home  and  had  trusted  this  business  to  any  other 
hands." 

"  You  are  the  blessing  of  my  life,"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur. 

"  Cheer  up,  and  come  down  and  let  us  have  some  tea,"  said 
Fleda  kissing  her  ; — "  I  feel  as  if  that  would  make  me  up  a  little  ; 
and  then  I'll  write  the  letters.  I  sha'n't  want  but  very  little  bag« 
gage  ;  there'll  be  nothing  to  pack  up." 

Philetus  was  sent  up  the  hill  with  a  note  to  Seth  Plumfield,  and 
orought  home  a  favorable  answer.  Fleda  thought  as  she  went  to 
rest  that  it  was  well  the  mind  s  strength  could  sometimes  act  inde 
pendently  of  its  servant  the  body,  hers  felt  so  very  shattered  and 
unsubstantial. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

I  thank  you  for  you  company ;  but  good  faith,  I  had  as  lief  have  beet 
myself  aione. — As  You  LIKE  IT. 

THE  first  thing  next  morning  Seth  Plumfield  came  down  to  say 
that  he  had  seen  Dr.  Ouackenboss  the  night  before  and  had 
chanced  to  find  out  that  he  was  going  to  New  York  too,  this  very 


QUEECHY.  403 

day  ;  and  knowing  that  the  doctor  would  be  just  as  safe  an  escort 
as  himself  Seth  had  made  over  the  charge  of  his  cousin  to  him ; 
"  calculating,"  he  said,  "  that  it  would  make  no  difference  to  Fleda 
and  that  he  had  better  stay  at  home  with  his  mother." 

Fleda  said  nothing  and  looked  as  little  as  possible  of  her  disap 
pointment,  and  her  cousin  went  away  wholly  unsuspecting  of  it. 

"  Seth  Plumfield  ha'n't  done  a  smarter  thing  than  that  in  a  gooo 
while,"  Barby  remarked  satirically  as  he  was  shutting  the  door.  "  I 
should  think  he'd  ha'  hurt  himself." 

"  I  dare  say  the  doctor  will  take  good  care  of  me,"  said  Fleda 
=•"  as  good  as  he  knows  how." 

"Men  beat  all!"  said  Barby  impatiently. — "The  little  senst 
there  is  into  them  ! — " 

Fleda' s  sinking  heart  was  almost  ready  to  echo  the  sentiment ; 
but  nobody  knew  it. 

Coffee  was  swallowed,  her  little  travelling-bag  and  bonnet  on  tht 
sofa  ;  all  ready.  Then  came  the  doctor. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Ringgan  ! — I  am  most  happy  of  this  delightful 
opportunity — I  had  supposed  you  were  located  at  home  for  the 
winter.  This  is  a  sudden  start." 

"  Is  it  sudden  to  you,  Dr.  Quackenboss  ?  **  said  Fleda. 

"Why — a — not  disagreeably  so,"  said  the  doctor  smiling; — 
"  nothing  could  be  that  in  the  present  circumstrnces, — but  I — a — I 
hadn't  calculated  upon  it  for  much  of  a  spell  beforehand." 

Fleda  was  vexed,  and  looked, — only  unconversable. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  the  doctor  after  a  pause, — "  that  we  have  not 
much  time  to  waste — a — in  idle  moments.  Which  route  do  you  in 
tend  to  travel  ?" 

"  I  was  thinking  to  go  by  the  North  River,  sir." 

"  Btit  the  ice  has  collected, — I  am  afraid, — " 

"  At  Albany,  I  know  ;  but  when  I  came  up  there  was  a  boat  every 
other  day,  and  we  could  get  there  in  time  by  the  stage — this  is  her 
day." 

• '  But  we  have  had  some  pretty  tight  weather  since,  if  you  re 
member,"  said  the  doctor ;  "  and  the  boats  have  ceased  to  connect 
with  the  stage.  We  shall  have  to  go  to  Greenfield  to  take  the 
Housatonic  which  will  land  us  at  Bridgeport  on  the  Sound.' 

«•  fiave  we  time  to  reach  Greenfield  this  morning?" 

"Oceans  of  time!  "  said  the  doctor  delightedly  ;  "  I've  got  my 
ream  here  and  they're  jumping  out  of  their  skins  with  having  noth 
ing  to  do  and  the  weather — they'll  carry  us  there  as  spry  as  grass 
hoppers — now,  if  you're  ready,  my  dear  Miss  Ringgan!  " 

There  was  nothing  more  but  to  give  and  receive  those  speechless 
lip-messages  that  are  out  of  the  reach  of  words,  and  Mrs.  Rossitur's 
half-spoken  last  charge,  to  take  care  of  herself ;  and  with  these 
seals  upon  her  mission  Fleda  set  forth  and  joined  the  doctor  ;  thank 
ful  for  one  foil  to  curiosity  in  the  shape  of  a  veil  and  only  wishing 
that  there  were  any  invented  screen  that  she  could  place  between 
her  and  hearing. 

"I  hope  your  attire  is  of  a  very  warm  description,"  said  the 
doctor  as  he  helped  her  into  the  wagon  ; — "it  friz  pretty  hard  last 
night  and  I  don't  think  it  has  got  out  of  the  notion  yet.  If  I  had 
been  consulted  in  any  other — a— form,  than  that  of  a  friend.  A 


404  QUEECHY. 

should  have  disapprobated,  if  you'll  excuse  me,  Miss  Ringgan's 
travelling  again  before  her  '  Rose  of  Cassius  '  there  was  in  blow. 
i  hope  you  have  heard  no  evil  tidings?  Dr. — a — Gregory,  I  hope, 
is  not  taken  ill  ?  " 

"  I  hope  not,  sir,"  said  Fleda. 

"  He  didn't  look  like  it.  A  very  hearty  old  gentleman.  Not 
very  old  either,  I  should  judge.  Was  he  the  brother  oi  your 
nother  or  your  father?  " 

"  Neither,  sir." 

"Ah! — I  misunderstood — I    thought,  but  of  course  I  was  mis^ 

iken, — I  thought  I  heard  you  speak  to  him  under  the  title  of  uncle. 

dut  that  is  a  title  we  sometimes  give  to  elderly  people  as  a  term  of 

familiarity — there  is  an  old  fellow  that  works  for  me, — he  has  been 

a  long  t'me  in  our  family,  and  we  always  call  him  •  uncle  Jenk.'  ' 

Fleda  was  ready  to  laugh,  cry,  and  be  angry,  in  a  breath.  She 
looked  straight  before  her  and  was  mum. 

"That  '  Rose  of  Cassius'  is  a  most  exquisite  thing!  "  said  the 
doctor,  recurring  to  the  cluster  of  bare  bushy  stems  in  the  corner  of 
the  garden.  "  Did  Mr.  Rossitur  bring  it  with  him  when  he  came 
to  his  present  residence  ?  " 

"  Yes  sir." 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Rossitur  now  ?  " 

Fleda  replied,  with  a  jump  of  her  heart,  that  business  affairs  had 
obliged  him  to  be  away  for  a  few  days. 

"  And  when  does  he  expect  to  return  ?"  said  the  doctor. 

"  I  hope  he  will  be  home  as  soon  as  I  am,"  said  Fleda. 

"  Then  you  do  not  expect  to  remain  long  in  the  city  this  time  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  have  much  of  a  winter  at  home  if  I  do,"  said  Fleda, 
"  We  are  almost  at  January." 

"Because,"  said  the  doctor,  "in  that  case  I  should  have  no 
higher  gratification  than  in  attending  upon  your  motions.  I — a — beg 
vou  to  believe,  my  dear  Miss  Ringgan,  that  it  would  afford  me  the 
— a — most  particular — It  would  be  most  particularly  grateful  to  me 
to  wait  upon  you  to — a — the  confines  of  the  world." 

Fleda  hastened  to  assure  her  officious  friend  that  the  time  of  her 
return  was  altogether  uncertain  ;  resolving  rather  to  abide  a  guest 
with  Mrs.  Pritchard  *>han  to  have  Dr.  Quackenboss  hanging  upon 
her  motions  every  day  of  her  being  there.  But  in  the  mean  time 
:he  doctor  got  upon  Capt.  Rossitur' s  subject ;  then  came  to  Mr. 
Thorn  ;  and  then  wanted  to  know  the  exact  nature  of  Mr.  Rossi- 
iur's  business  affairs  in  Michigan  ;  through  all  which  matters  poor 
Fleda  had  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  questions,  interspersed  with 
gracious  speeches  v:hich  she  could  bear  even  less  well.  She  was 
extremely  glad  to  reach  the  cars  and  take  refuge  in  seeming  sleep 
from  the  mongrel  attentions,  which  if  for  the  most  part  prompted 
by  admiration  own^d  so  large  a  share  of  curiosity.  Her  weary 
head  and  heart  would  fain  have  courted  the  reality  of  sleep,  as  a 
refuge  from  more  painful  thoughts  and  a  feeling  of  exhaustion  that 
could  scarcely  support  itself;  but  the  restless  roar  and  jumble  of 
the  rail-cars  put  it  beyond  her  power.  How  long  the  hours  were — 
now  hard  to  wear  out.  with  no  possibility  of  a  change  of  position 
that  would  give  rest  ;  *  leda  would  not  even  raise  her  head  when 
they  stopped,  for  fa**,  of  being  talked  to  ;  how  trying  that  endlew 


QUEECHY.  495 

noise  to  her  racked  nerves.  It  came  to  an  end  at  last,  though 
Fleda  would  not  move  for  fear  they  might  be  only  taking  in  wood 
arid  water. 

"  Miss  Ringgan  !  "  said  the  doctor  in  her  ear, — "  my  dear  Miss 
Ringgan  ! — we  are  here  ! — " 

"  Are  we  ?  "  said  Fleda  looking  up  ; — "  what  other  name  has  the 
place,  doctor?  " 

"Why  Bridgeport,"  said  the  doctor, — "we're  at  Bridgeport— 
•low  we  have  leave  to  exchange  conveyances.  A  man  feels  con- 
trained  after  a  prolonged  length  of  time  in  a  rjflace.  How  have 
/on  enjoyed  the  ride?  " 

"  Not  very  well — it  has  seemed  long.  I  am  glad  we  are  at  the 
end  of  it!  " 

But  as  she  rose  and  threw  back  her  veil  the  doctor  looked  start- 
Jed. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Ringgan  ! — are  you  faint  ?  " 

"  No  sir." 

"  You  are  not  well,  indeed  ! — I  am  very  sorry — the  ride  has  been 
- — Take  my  arm  ! — Ma'am,"  said  the  doctor  touching  a  biack  satin 
cloak  which  filled  the  passage-way, — "  will  yo»*  have  the  goodness 
to  give  this  lady  a  passport?  " 

But  the  black  sat?n  cloak  preferred  a  straightforward  manner  of 
doing  this,  so  their  egress  was  somewhat  delayed.  Happily  faint- 
ness  was  not  the  matter. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Ringgan  !  "  said  the  doctor  as  they  reached  the 
ground  and  the  outer  air, — "  what  was  it  ? — the  stove  too  powerful  ? 
You  are  looking — you  are  of  a  dreadfully  delicate  appearance  !  " 

"I  had  a  headache  yesterday,"  said  Fleda  ;  "  it  always  leaves 
me  with  a  disagreeable  reminder  the  next  day.  I  am  not  ill." 

But  he  looked  frightened,  and  hurried  her,  as  fast  as  he  dared, 
to  the  steamboat  ;  and  there  proposed  half  a  dozen  restoratives  ; 
the  simplest  of  which  Fleda  took,  and  then  sought  delicious  rest 
from  him  and  from  herself  on  the  cushions  of  a  settee.  Delicious  ! 
— though  she  was  alone,  in  the  cabin  of  a  steamboat,  with  strange 
forms  and  noisy  tongues  around  her,  the  closed  eyelids  shut  it  out 
all;  and  she  had  time  but  for  one  resting  thought  of  "patient 
continuance  in  well-doing,"  and  one  happy  heart-look  up  to  him 
vhp  has  said  that  he  cares  for  his  children,  a  look  that  laid  her 
tnxieties  down  there, — when  past  misery  and  future  difficulty  faded 
away  before  a  sleep  that  lasted  till  the  vessel  reached  her  moorings 
and  was  made  fast. 

She  was  too  weary  and  faint  even  to  think  during  the  long  drive 
up  to  Bleecker-st.  She  was  fain  to  let  it  all  go — the  work  she  had 
to  do  and  the  way  she  must  set  about  it,  and  rest  in  the  assurance 
that  nothing  could  be  done  that  night.  She  did  not  so  much  as 
hear  Dr.  Quackenboss's  observations,  though  she  answered  a  few 
of  them,  till,  at  the  door,  she  was  conscious  of  his  promising  to  see 
her  to-morrow  and  of  her  instant  conclusion  to  take  measures  to 
see  nobody. 

How  strange  everything  seemed.  She  walked  through  the 
familiar  hall,  feeling  as  if  her  acquaintance  with  every  old  thing 
was  broken.  /There  was  no  light  in  th$  back  parlor,  but  a  com* 
foruble  fire. 


406  QUEECHT. 

"Is  my — is  Dr.  Gregory  at  home?"  she  asked  of  the  girl  who 
had  let  her  in. 

"  No  ma'am  ;  he  hasn't  got  back  from  Philadelphia." 

"Tell  Mrs.  Pritchard  a  lady  wants  to  see  her." 

Good  Mrs.  Pritchard  was  much  more  frightened  than  Dr. 
Quackenboss  had  been  when  she  came  into  the  back  parlor  to  see 
"  a  lady  "  and  found  Fleda  in  the  great  arm-chair  taking  off  her 
things.  She  poured  out  questions,  wonderings  and  lamentings,  not 
"  in  a  breath  "  but  in  a  great  many  ;  quite  forgot  to  be  glad  to  see 
her,  she  looked  so  dreadfully  ;  and  "  what  had  been  the  matter? 
Fleda  answered  her, — told  of  yesterday's  illness  and  to-day  i 
journey  ;  and  met  all  her  shocked  enquiries  with  so  composed  a 
face  and  such  a  calm  smile  and  bearing,  that  Mrs.  Pritchard  was 
almost  persuaded  not  to  believe  her  eyes. 

"My  uncle  is  not  at  home?  " 

"O  no,  Miss  Fleda!  I  suppose  he's  in  Philadelphy — but  his 
motions  is  so  little  to  be  depended  on  that  I  never  know  when  I 
have  him;  maybe  he'll  stop  going  through  to  Boston,  and  maybe 
no,  and  I  don't  know  when  ;  so  anyhow  I  had  to  have  a  fire  made 
and1  this  room  all  ready  ;  and  ain't  it  lucky  it  was  ready  for  you 
to-night! — and  now  he  ain't  here  you  can  have  the  great  chair  all 
to  yourself  and  make  yourself  comfortable — we  can  keep  warmer 
here,  I  guess,  than  you  can  in  the  country,"  said  the  good  house 
keeper  giving  some  skilful  admonishing  touches  to  the  fire  ; — "  and 
you  must  just  sit  there  and  read  and  rest,  and  see  if  you  can't 
get  back  your  old  looks  again.  If  I  thought  it  was  that  you  came 
for  I'd  be  happy.  I  never  did  see  such  a  change  in  any  one  in 
five  days. 

She  stood  looking  down  at  her  guest  with  a  face  of  very  serious 
concern,  evidently  thinking  much  more  than  she  choose  to  give 
utterance  to. 

"  I  am  tired,  Mrs.  Pritchard,"   said  Fleda  smiling  up  at  her. 

"I  wish  you  had  somebody  to  take  care  of  you,  Miss  Fleda, 
that  wouldn't  let  you  tire  yourself.  It's  a  sin  to  throw  your 
strength  away  so — and  you  don't  care  for  looks  nor  nothing  else 
when  it's  for  other  people.  You're  looking  just  as  handsome,  too, 
for  all,"  she  said,  her  mouth  giving  way  a  little,  as  she  stooped 
down  to  take  off  Fleda's  overshoes,  "  but  that's  only  because  \ci 
can't  help  it.  Now  what  is  there  you'd  like  to  have  for  supper  ! — 
just  say  and. you  shall  have  it — whatever  would  seem  best — because 
I  mightn't  hit  the  right  thing?" 

Fleda  declared  her  indifference  to  everything  but  a  cup  of  tea, 
and  her  hostess  bustled  away  to  get  that  and  tax  her  own  ingenuity 
and  kindness  for  the  rest.  And  leaning  her  weary  head  back  in 
the  lounge  Fleda  tried  to  think, — but  it  was  not  time .  yet ;  she 
could  only  feel ;  feel  what  a  sad  change  had  come  over  her  since 
she  had  sat  there  last ;  shut  her  eyes  and  wish  she  could  sleep 
again. 

But  Mrs.  Pritchard's  hospitality  must  be  gone  through  with 
first. 

The  nicest  of  suppers  was  served  in  the  bright  little  pa i lor  an.i 
her  hostess  was  a  compound  of  care  and  good-will  ;  nothing  was 
wanting  to  the  feast  but  a  merry  heart.  Fleda  could  not  bring  that. 


QUEECffY.  407 

so  her  performance  was  unsatisfactory  and  Mrs.  Pritchard  was  dis 
tressed.  Fleda  went  to  her  own  room  promising  better  doings  to 
morrow. 

She  awoke  in  the  morning  to  the  full  burden  of  care  and  sorrow 
which  sheer  weakness  and  weariness  the  day  before  had  in  part 
laid  down  ;  to  a  quicker  sense  of  the  state  of  things  than  she  had 
had  yet.  The  blasting  evil  that  had  fallen  upon  them, —  Fleda 
writhed  on  her  bed  when  she  thought  of  it.  The  sternest,  cruellest, 
most  inflexible,  grasp  of  distress.  Poverty  may  be  borne,  death 
nay  be  sweetened,  even  to  the  survivors  ;  but  disgrace — Fleda  hid 
her  head,  as  if  she  would  shut  the  idea  out  with  the  light.  And 
uie  ruin  it  had  wrought.  Affection  killed  at  the  root, — her  aunt's 
happiness  withered,  for  this  world, — Hugh's  life  threatened, — the 
fair  name  of  his  family  gone, — the  wear  and  weariness  of  her  own 
spirit, — but  that  had  hardly  a  thought.  Himself? — oh  no  one  could 
tell  what  a  possible  wreck,  now  that  self-respect  and  the  esteem  of 
others,  those  two  safe-guards  of  character,  were  lost  to  him.  "  So 
much  security  has  any  woman  in  a  man  without  religion  ;  "  3fle 
remembered  those  words  of  her  aunt  Miriam  now  ;  and  she  thought 
if  Mr.  Thorn  had  sought  an  ill  wind  to  blow  upon  his  pretensions 
he  could  not  have  pitched  them  better.  What  fairer  promise,  with 
out  religion,  could  be  than  her  uncle  had  given  ?  Reproach  had 
never  breathed  against  his  name,  and  no  one  less  than  those  who 
knew  him  best  could  fancy  that  he  had  ever  given  it  occasion. 
And  who  could  have  more  at  stake? — and  the  stake  was  lost — that 
was  the  summing  up  thought. 

No,  it  was  not, — for  Fleda's  mind  presently  sprang  beyond, — to 
the  remedy  ;  and  after  a  little  swift  and  earnest  flitting  about  of 
thought  over  feasibilities  and  contingencies,  she  jumped  up  and 
dressed  herself  with  a  prompt  energy  which  showed  a  mind  made 
up  to  its  course.  And  yet  when  she  came  down  to  the  parlor, 
though  bending  herself  with  nervous  intentness  to  the  work  she  had 
to  do,  her  fingers  and  her  heart  were  only  stayed  in  their  trembling 
by  some  of  the  happy  assurances  she  had  been  fleeing  to  ; — 

"COMMIT  THY  WORKS  UNTO  THE  LORD,  AND  ALL  THY  THOUGHTS 
SHALL  BE  ESTABLISHED.  "- 

"  IN  ALL  THY  WAYS  ACKNOWLEDGE  HIM  :  HE  SHALL  DIRECT  THY 
3ATHS."- 

— Assurances,  not  indeed  that  her  plans  should  meet  with  suc- 
ess,  but  that  they  should  have  the  issue  best  for  them. 

She  was  early,  but  the  room  was  warm  and  in  order  and  the 
servant  had  left  it.  Fleda  sought  out  paper  and  pencil  and  sat 
down  to  fashion  the  form  of  an  advertisement, — the  first  thing  to 
be  done.  She  had  no  notion  how  difficult  a  thing  till  she  came  to 
do  it. 

"  R.  ./?.  is  entreated  to  communicate  with  his  niece  at  the  old  place 
in  Bleecker-street,  on  business  of  the  greatest  importance'' 

"  It  will  not  do,"  said  Fleda  to  herself  as  she  sat  and  looked  at 
it, — "  there  is  not  enough  to  catch  his  eye  ;  and  there  is  too  much 
if  it  caught  anybody  else's  eye  ; — '  R.  R.',  and  'his  niece,'  and 
1  Bleecker-street, — that  would  tell  plain  enough." 


408  QUEECHY. 

"  Dear  uncle,  F.  /k*»  followed  you  here  on  business  of  the  greate& 
importance.  Pray  let  her  see  you — she  is  at  the  old  place'' 

"It  will  not  do,"  thought  Fleda  again, — "  there  ic>  still  less  to 
catch  his  eye — I  cannot  trust  it.  And  if  I  were  to  put  '  Queechy  J 
over  it,  that  would  give  the  clue  to  the  Evelyns  and  everybody. 
But  I  had  better  risk  anything  rather  than  his  seeing  it — " 

The  miserable  needlessness  of  the  whole  thing,  the  pitiful 
weighing  of  sorrow  against  sorrow,  and  shame  against  shame£ 
overcame  her  for  a  little  ;  and  then  dashing  away  the  tears  "she 
had  no  time  for  and  locking  up  the  strong  box  of  her  heart,  she 
took  her  pencil  again. 

"  Queechy. 

"  Let  me  see  you  at  the  old  place.  T  have  come  here  on  urgent 
fastness  for  you.  Do  not  deny  me,  for  H—s  sake! ' ' 

With  a  trifle  of  alteration  she  thought  this  would  do  ;  and  went 
on  to  make  a  number  of  fair  copies  of  it  for  so  many  papers.  This 
was  done  and  all  traces  of  it  out  of  the  way  before  Mrs.  Pritchard 
came  in  and  the  breakfast  ;  and  after  bracing  herself  with  coffee, 
though  the  good  housekeeper  was  still  sadly  dissatisfied  with  her  in 
difference  to  some  more  substantial  brace  in  the  shape  of  chickens 
and  ham,  Fleda  prepared  herself  inwardly  and  outwardly  to  brave 
the  wind  and  the  newspaper  offices,  and  set  forth.  It  was  a 
bright  keen  day  ;  she  was  sorry ;  she  would  it  had  been  cloudy. 
It  seemed  as  if  she  could  not  hope  to  escape  some  eyes  in  such  an 
atmosphere. 

She  went  to  the  library  first,  and  there  requested  the  librarian, 
whom  she  knew,  to  bring  her  from  the  reading-room  the  files  of 
morning  and  evening  papers.  They  were  many  more  than  she 
had  supposed  ;  she  had  not  near  advertisements  enough.  Paper 
and  ink  were  at  hand  however,  and  making  carefully  her  list  of  the 
various  offices,  morning  and  evening  separate,  she  wrote  out  a  copy 
of  the  notice  for  each  of  them. 

The  morning  was  well  on  by  the  time  she  could  leave  the  library. 
!t  was  yet  far  from  the  fashionable  hour,  however,  and  sedulously 
shunning  the  recognition  of  anybody,  in  hopes  it  would  be  one  step 
toward  her  escaping  theirs,  she  made  her  way  down  the  bright  thor 
oughfare  as  far  as  the  City  Hall,  and  then  crossed  over  the  Park  and 
p:unged  into  a  region  where  it  was  very  little  likely  she  would  see  a 
lace  that  she  knew.  She  saw  nothing  else  either  that  she  knew  ;  in 
-spite  of  having  studied  the  map  of  the  city  in  the  library  she 
was  forced  several  times  to  ask  her  way,  as  she  visited  office  after 
office,  of  the  evening  papers  first,  till  she  had  placed, her  notice  with 
each  one  of  them.  Her  courage  almost  failed  her,  her  heart  did 
quite,  after  two  or  three.  It  was  a  trial  from  which  her  whole  na 
ture  shrank,  to  go  among  the, people,  to  face  the  eyes,  to  exchange 
talk  with  the  lips,  that  were  at  home  in  those  purlieus  ;  look  at  them 
she  did  not.  Making  her  slow  way  through  the  choked  harrow 
streets,  where  the  mere  confusion  of  business  was  bewildering,— 
very,  to  any  one  come  from  Queechy  ;  among  crowds,  of  what 
mixed  and  doubtful  character,  hurrying  along  and  brushing  with  little 
ceremony  past  her;  edging  by  loitering  groups  that  filled  the  whole 
sidewalk,  or  perhaps  edging  through  them,  groups  whose  general 


QUEECHY.  409 

type  of  character  was  sufficiently  plain  and  wrnnixed  ;  entering  into 
parley  with  clerk  after  clerk  who  looked  at  such  a  visitor  as  an  anom 
aly, — poor  Fleda  almost  thought  so  too,  and  shrank  within  herself  ; 
venturing  hardly  her  eyes  beyond  her  thick  veil,  and  shutting  her 
ears  resolutely  as  far  as  possible  to  all  the  dissonant  rough  voices 
that  helped  to  assure  her  she  was  where  she  ought  not  to  be. 
Sometimes  she  felt  that  it  was  impossible  to  go  on  and  finish  her  task  ; 
but  a  thought  or  two  nerved  her  again  to  plunge  into  another 
•  ntried  quarter  or  make  good  her  entrance  to  some  new 
'ice  through  a  host  of  loungers  and  waiting  news-boys  col= 
i  ;ted  round  the  door.  Sometimes  in  utter  discouragement  she 
-vent  on  and  walked  to  a  distance  and  came  back,  in  the  hope  of  a 
better  opportunity.  It  was  a  long  business  ;  and  she  often  had  to 
wait.  The  end  of  her  list  was  reached  at  last,  and  the  paper  was 
thrown  away  ;  but  she  did  not  draw  free  breath  till  she  got  to  the 
west  side  of  Broadway  again,  and  turned  her  back  upon  them  all. 

It  was  late  then,  and  the  street  was  thinned  of  a  part  of  its  gay 
throng.  Completely  worn,  in  body  as  well  as  mind,  with  slow  fal 
tering  steps,  Fleda  moved  on  among  those  still  left  ;  looking  upon 
them  with  a  curious  eye  as  if  they  and  she  belonged  to  different 
classes  of  beings  ;  so  very  far  her  sobered  and  saddened  spirit  seemed 
to  herself  from  their  stir  of  business  and  gayety  ;  if  they  had  been 
a  train  of  lady-flies  or  black  ant,s  Fleda  would  hardly  have  felt  that 
she  had  less  in  common  with  them.  It  was  a  weary  long  way  up  to 
Bleecker-street,  as  she  was  forced  to  travel  it. 

The  relief  was  unspeakable  to  find  herself  within  her  uncle's  door 
with  the  sense  that  her  dreaded  duty  was  done,  and  well  and  thor 
oughly.  Now  her  part  was  to  be  still  and  wait.  But  with  the  relief 
came  also  a  reaction  from  the  strain  of  the  morning.  Before  her 
weary  feet  had  well  mounted  the  stairs  her  heart  gave  up  its  control  ; 
and  she  locked  herself  in  her  room  to  yield  to  a  helpless  outpouring 
of  tears  which  she  was  utterly  unable  to  restrain,  though  conscious 
tliat  long  time  had  come  to  pass  before  she  would  be  called  to  din 
ner.  Dinner  had  to  wait. 

"Miss  Fleda,"  said  the  housekeeper  in  a  vexed  tone  when  the 
meal  was  half  over, — "  I  didn't  know  you  ever  did  anything 
vrong." 

"  You  were  sadly  mistaken,   Mrs.  Pritchard,"  said  Fleda,  half 
-htly,  half  sadly. 

"  You're  looking  not  a  bit  better  than  last  night,  and  if  anything 
ather  worse,"  Mrs.  Pritchard  went  on.     "  It  isn't  right,  Miss  Fleda. 
irou  oughtn't  to  ha'  set  the  first   step   out  of  doors,   I  know  you 
oughtn't,  this  blessed  day  ;  arid  you've  been  on  your  feet  these  seven 
hours, — and  you  show  it!     You're  just  ready  to  drop." 
"  I  will  rest  to-morrow,"  said  Fleda,—"  or  try  to." 
"  You  are-fit  for  nothing  but  bed,"  said  the  housekeeper, — "  and 
you've  been  using  yourself,  Miss  Fleda,  as  if  you  had  the  strength 
of  an  elephant.     Now  do  you  think  you've  being  doing  right  ?  " 

Fleda  would  have  made  some  cheerful  answer,  but  she  was  m  t 
equal  to  it ;  she  had  lost  all  command  of  herself,  ;md  she  dropped 
knife  and  fork  to  burst  into  a  flood  of  exceeding  tears.  Mrs.  Pritchrtnl 
equally  astonished  and  mystified,  hurried  questions,  apologias,  and 
consolations,  one  upon  another  ;  and  made  up  her  mind  that  there 


410  QUEECHT. 

was  something  mysterious  on  foot  about  which  she  had  better  ask 
no  questions.  Neither  did  she,  from  that  time.  She  sealed  up  her 
mouth,  and  contented  herself  with  taking  the  best  care  of  her  guest 
that  she  possibly  could.  Needed  enough,  but  all  of  little  avail. 

The  reaction  did  not  cease  with  that  day.  The  next,  Sunday,  was 
spent  on  the  sofa,  in  a  state  of  utter  prostration.  With  the  neces 
sity  for  exertion  the  power  had  died.  Fleda  could  only  lie  upon  the 
cushions,  and  sleep  helplessly,  while  Mrs.  Pritchard  sat  by,  anxiously 
watching  her  ;  curiosity  really  swallowed  up  in  kind  feeling.  Mon 
day  was  little  better,  but  toward  the  after  part  of  the  day  the  stimu 
lant  of  anxiety  began  to  work  again,  and  Fleda  sat  up  to  watch  <bi 
a  word  from  her  uncle.  But  none  came,  and  Tuesday  morning 
distressed  Mrs.  Pritchard  with  its  want  of  amendment.  It  was  not 
to  be  hoped  for,  Fleda  knew,  while  this  fearful  watching  lasted. 
Her  uncle  might  not  have  seen  the  advertisement — he  might  not 
have  got  her  letter — he  might  be  even  then  setting  sail  to  quit 
home  forever.  And  she  could  do  nothing  but  wait.  Her  nerves 
were  alive  to  every  stir  ;  every  touch  of  the  bell  made  her  tremble  ; 
it  was  impossible  to  read,  to  lie  down,  to  be  quiet  or  still  anywhere. 
She  had  set  the  glass  of  expectancy  for  one  thing  in  the  distance  ; 
and  all  things  else  were  a  blurr  or  a  blank. 

They  had  sat  down  to  dinner  that  Tuesday,  when  a  ring  at  the  door 
which  had  made  her  heart  jump  was  followed — yes,  it  was, — by  the 
entrance  of  the  maid-servant  holding  a  folded  bit  of  paper  in  her 
hand.  Fleda  did  not  wait  to  ask  whose  it  was  ,  she  seized  it  and 
saw  ;  and  sprang  away  up-stairs.  It  was  a  sealed  scrap  of  paper, 
that  had  been  the  back  of  a  letter,  containing  two  lines  without 
signature. 

"  I  will  meet  you  at  Dinah" s  — if  you  come  there  alone  about 
sundown." 

Enough  !  Dinah  was  an  old  black  woman  who  once  had  been  a 
very  attached  servant  in  Mr.  Rossitur's  family,  and  having  mar 
ried  and  become  a  widow  years  ago,  had  set  up  for  herself  in  the 
trade  of  a  washerwoman,  occupying  an  obscure  little  tenement  out 
toward  Chelsea.  Fleda  had  rather  a  shadowy  idea  of  the  locality, 
though  remembering  very  well  sundry  journeys  of  kindness  she 
and  Hugh  had  made  to  it  in  days  gone  by.  Rut  she  recollected  it 
was  in  Sloman-street  and  she  knew  she  could  find  it ;  and  dropping 
upon  her  kness  poured  out  thanks  too  deep  to  be  uttered  and  toe 
strong  to  be  even  thought  without  a  convulsion  of  tears.  Her  din 
ner  after  that  was  but  a  mental  thanksgiving  ;  she  was  hardly  con- 
icious  of  anything  beside  ;  and  a  thankful  rejoicing  for  all  her 
weary  labors.  There  weariness  was  sweet  to  her  now.  Let  her 
but  see  him  ; — the  rest  was  sure. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

How  well  appaid  she  was  her  bird  to  find ! 

SIDNEY. 

FLEDA  counted  the  minutes  till  it  wanted  an  hour  of  sundown  ;  and 
then  avoiding  Mrs.  Pritchard  made  her  escape  out  of  the  house.  A 
long  walk  was  before  her  and  the  latter  part  of  it  through  a  region 


QUEECHr.  411 

which  she  wished  to  pass  while  the  light  was  good.  And  she  was 
utterly  unable  to  travel  at  any  but  a  very  gentle  rate.  So  she  gave 
herself  plenty  of  time. 

It  was  a  very  bright  afternoon  and  all  the  world  was  astir.  Fleda 
shielded  herself  with  a  thick  veil  and  went  up  one  of  the  narrow 
streets,  not  daring  to  venture  into  Broadway  ;  and  passing  Waverly 
Place  which  was  almost  as  bright,  turned  down  Eighth-street.  A 
few  blocks  now  and  she  would  be  out  of  all  danger  of  meeting  any 
9ne  that  knew  her.  She  drew  her  veil  close  and  hurried  on.  But 
the  proverb  saith  "  a  miss  is  as  good  as  a  mile,"  and  with  reason  ; 
for  if  fate  wills  the  chances  make  nothing.  As  Fleda  set  her  foot 
down  to  cross  Fifth  Avenue  she  saw  Mr.  Carleton  on  the  other  side 
coming  up  from  Waverly  Place.  She  went  as  slowly  as  she  dared, 
hoping  that  he  would  pass  without  looking  her  way,  or  be  unable  to 
recognize  her  through  her  thick  wrapper.  In  vain, — she  soon  saw 
that  she  was  known  ;  he  was  waiting  for  her,  and  she  must  put  up 
her  veil  and  speak  to  him. 

"  Why  I  thought  you  had  left  New  York,"  said  he  ; — "I  was 
told  so." 

"I  had  left  it — I  have  left  it,  sir,"  said  Fleda; — "I  have  only 
come  back  for  a  day  or  two — " 

"  Have  you  been  ill  ?  "  he  said  with  a  sudden  change  of  tone,  the 
light  in  his  eye  and  sntile  giving  place  to  a  very  marked  gravity. 

Fleda  would  have  answered  with  a  half  smile,  but  such  a  sick 
ness  of  heart  came  over  her  that  speech  failed  and  she  was  very 
near  bursting  into  tears.  Mr.  Carleton  looked  at  her  earnestly  a 
moment,  and  tlren  put  the  hand  which  Fleda  had  forgotten  he  still 
held,  upon  his  arm  and  began  to  walk  forward  gently  with  her. 
Something  in  the  grave  tenderness  with  which  this  was  done  re 
minded  Fleda  irresistibly  of  the  times  when  she  had  been  a  child 
under  his  care  ;  and  somehow  her  thoughts  went  off  on  a  tangent 
back  to  the  further  days  of  her  mother  and  father  and  grandfather, 
the  other  friends  from  whom  she  had  had  die  same  gentle  protection, 
which  now  there  was  no  one  in  the  wond  to  give  her.  And  their 
images  did  never  seem  more  winning  fair  than  just  then, — when 
their  place  was  left  most  especially  empty.  Her  uncle  she  had 
never  looked  up  to  in  the  same  way,  and  whatever  stay  he  had  been 
was  cut  down.  Her  aunt  leaned  upon  her ;  and  Hugh  had  always 
oeen  more  of  a  younger  than  an  elder  brother.  The  quick  contrast 
of  those  old  happy  childish  days  was  too  strong  ;  the  glance  back 
at  what  she  had  had,  made  her  feel  the  want.  Fleda  blamed  her 
self,  reasoned  and  fought  with  herself; — but  she  was  weak  in  mind 
and  body,  her  nerves  were  unsteady  yet,  her  spirits  unprepared  for 
any  encounter  or  reminder  of  pie  aye  ;  and  though  vexed  and 
ashamed  she  could not  hold  her  he^jj«p,  and  she  could  not  prevent 
tear  after  tear  from  falling  as  the^jjKrt  along  ;  she  could  only  hope 
that  nobody  saw  them. 

Nobody  spoke  of  them.  flflpften  nobody  said  anything  ;  and 
the  silence  at  last  frightened  •  HUto  rousing  herself.  She  checked 
her  tears  and  raised  her  het^nWhe  ventured  no  more  ;  she  dared 
not  turn  her  face  toward  her  companion.  He  looked  at  her  onceo^ 
twice,  as  if  in  doubt  whether  to  speak  or  not. 


412  QUEECHT. 

"  Are  you  riot  going  beyond  your  strength?"  he  said  at  length 
gently. 

Fleda  said  no,  although  in  a  tone  that  half  confessed  his  suspi 
cion.  He  was  silent  again,  however,  and  she  cast  about  in  vain  for 
something  to  speak  of;  it  seemed  to  her  that  all  subjects  of  conver 
sation  in  general  had  been  packed  up  for  exportation  ;  neither  eye 
nor  memory  could  light  upon  a  single  one.  Block  after  block  was 
passed,  the  pace  at  which  he  walked,  and  the  manner  of  his  care 
for  her,  alone  showing  that  he  knew  what  a  very  light  hanc  was 
resting  upon  her  arm. 

"  How  pretty  the  curl  of  blue  smoke  is  from  that  chimney/  he 
said. 

It  was  said  with  a  tone  so  carelessly  easy  that  Fleda' s  heart 
jumped  for  one  instant  in  the  persuasion  that  he  had  seen  and 
noticed  nothing  peculiar  about  her. 

"I  know  it,"  she  said  eagerly, — "I  have  often  thought  of  it-— 
especially  here  in  the  city — " 

"  Why  is  it  ?  what  is  it  ?  " 

Fleda' s  eye  gave  one  of  its  exploratory  looks  at  his,  such  as  lie 
remembered  from  years  ago,  before  she  spoke. 

"  Isn't  it  contrast? — or  at  least  I  think  that  helps  the  effect  here." 

"  What  do  you  make  the  contrast?  "  he  sajd  quietly. 

"  Isn't  it,"  said  Fleda  with  another  glance,  "  the  contrast  of 
something  pure  and  free  and  upward-tending,  with  what  is  below  it. 
I  did  not  mean  the  mere  painter's  contrast.  In  the  country  smoke 
is  more  picturesque,  but  in  the  city  I  think  it  has  more  character." 

"To  how  many  people  do  you  suppose  it  ever  occurred  that 
smoke  had  a  character?  "  said  he  smiling. 

"You  are  laughing  at  me,  Mr.  Carleton  ?  perhaps  I  deserve  it.' 

"  You  do  not  think  that,"  said  he  with  a  look  that  forbade  her  to 
think  it.  "  But  I  see  you  are  of  Lavater's  mind,  that  everything 
has  a  physiognomy?  " 

"  I  think  he  was  perfectly  right,"  said  Fleda.  "  Don't  you,  Mr. 
Carleton?" 

"  To  some  people,  yes  ! — But  the  expression  is  so  subtle  that  only 
very  nice  sensibilities,  with  fine  training,  can  hope  to  catch  it  ; 
therefore  to  the  mass  of  the  world  Lavater  would  talk  nonsense." 

"  That  is  a  gentle  hint  to  me.  But  if  I  talk  nonsense  I  wish  you 
would  set  me  right,  Mr.  Carleton  ; — I  am  very  apt  to  amuse  myself 
with  tracing  out  fancied  analogies  in  almost  everything,  and  I  may 
carry  it  too  far — too  far  to  be  spoken  of  wisely.  It  think  it  enlarges 
one's  field  of  pleasure  very  much.  Where  one  eye  is  stopped,  an 
other  is  but  invited  on." 

"So,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  "while  that  puff  of  smoke  would  lead 
one  person's  imagination  only  down  the  chimney  to  the  kitchen  fire, 

it  would  take  another's where  did  yours  go?"  said  he  suddenly 

turning  round  upon  her. 

Fleda  met  his  eye  again,  without  speaking  ;  but  her  look  had  per 
haps  more  than  half  revealed  her  thought,  for  she  was  answered 
with  a  smile  so  intelligent  and  sympathetic  that  she  was  abashed. 

"  How  very  much  religion  heightens  the  enjoyments  of  life,"  Mr 
Carleton  said  after  a  while. 

Fleda' s  heart  throbbed  an  answer  ;  she  did  not  speak. 


qVEECHY.  413 

••  Both  in  its  direct  and  indirect  action.  The  mind  is  set  free  from 
influences  that  narrowed  its  range  and  dimmed  its  vision  ;  and  re 
fined  to  a  keener  sensibility,  a  juster  perception,  a  high  power  of 
appreciation,  by  far,  than  it  had  before.  And  then,  to  say  nothing 
of  religion's  own  peculiar  sphere  of  enjoyment,  technically  religious, 
— what  a  field  of  pleasure  it  opens  to  its  possessor  in  the  world  of 
moral  beauty,  most  partially  known  to  any  other, — and  the  fine  but 
exquisite  analogies  of  things  material  with  things  spiritual, — those 
harmonies  of  Nature  t  to  which,  talk  as  they  will,  all  other  ears  are 
deaf!  " 

"  You  know,"  said  Fleda  with  full  eyes  that  she  dared  not  showt 
:<  how  Henry  Martyn  said  that  he  found  he  enjoyed  painting  and 
music  so  much  more  after  he  became  a  Christian." 

"  I  remember.  It  is  the  substituting  a  just  medium  for  a  false 
one — it  is  putting  nature  within  and  nature  without  in  tune  with  each 
other,  so  that  the  chords  are  perfect  now  which  were  jarring  before." 

"  And  yet  how  far  people  would  be  from  believing  you,  Mr. 
Carleton." 

«'  Yes — they  are  possessed  with  the  contrary  notion.  But  in  all 
the  creation  nothing  has  a  one-sided  usefulness  ; — what  a  reflection 
it  would  be  upon  the  wisdom  of  its  author  if  godliness  alone  were 
the  exception — if  it  were  not  '  profitable  for  the  life  that  now  is,  as 
well  as  for  that  which  is  to  come  '  ! 

"  They  make  that  work  the  other  way,  don't  they  ? "  said  Fleda. 
— "  Not  being  able  to  see  how  thorough  religion  should  be  for  any 
body's  happiness,  they  make  use  of  your  argument  to  conclude  that 
it  is  not  what  the  Bible  requires.  How  I  have  heard  that  urged — 
that  God  intended  his  creatures  to  be  happy — as  a  reason  why  they 
should  disobey  him.  They  lay  hold  on  the  wrong  end  of  the  argu 
ment  and  work  backward." 

"  Precisely. 

"  '  God  intended  his  creatures  to  be  happy. 

"  '  Strict  obedience  would  make  them  unhappy. 

'  '  Therefore,  he  does  not  intend  them  to  obey.'  " 

"They  never  put  it  before  them  quite  so  clearly,"  said  Fleda. 

"They  would  startle  at  it  a  little.  But  so  they  would  at  the  right 
stating  of  the  case." 

"  And  how  would  that  be,  Mr.  Carleton  ?  " 

"  It  might  be  somewhat  after  this  fashion — 

•"God  requires  nothing  that  is  not  for  the  happiness  of  his 
people— 

"  '  He  requires  perfect  obedience — 

5<  'Therefore,  perfect  obedience  is  for  their  happiness.' 

"  But  unbelief  will  not  understand  that.  Did  it  ever  strike  you 
how  much  there  is  in  those  words  '  Come  and  see  '  ? — All  that  argu 
ment  can  do,  after  all,  is  but  to  persuade  to  that.  Only  faith  will 
submit  to  terms  and  enter  the  narrow  gate  ;  and  only  obedience 
knows  what  the  prospect  is  on  the  other  side.'' 

"  But  Un't  it  true,  Mr.  Carleton,  that  the  world  have  some  cause 
for  their  ^pinion  ? — judging  as  they  do  by  the  outside  ?     The  pecul 
iar  pleasures  of  religion,  as  you  say,  are  out  of  sight,  and  they  do 
not  always  find  in  religious  people  that  enlargement  and  refinement 
of  which  you  were  speaking.  ' 


43*  QUEECHY. 

"Because  they  make  unequal  comparisons.  Recollect  that,  as 
God  has  declared,  the  ranks  of  religion  are  not  for  the  most  part 
filled  from  the  wise  and  the  great.  In  making  your  estimate  you 
must  measure  things  equal  in  other  respects.  Compare  the  same 
rnaa  with  himself  before  he  was  a  Christian  or  with  his  unchristian- 
ized  fellows, — and  you  will  find  invariably  the  refining,  dignifying, 
ennobling,  influence  of  true  religion  ;  the  enlarged  intelligence  and 
the  greater  power  of  enjoyment." 

'"And  beside  those  causes  of  pleasure-giving  that  you  men 
tioned,"  said  Fleda, — "there  is  a  mind  at  ease;  and  how  much 
eh*.*  is  alone.  If  I  may  judge  others  by  myself, — the  mere  fact  of 
fiei.dg  unpoised — unresting — disables  the  mind  from  a  thousand 
things  that  are  joyfully  relished  by  one  entirely  at  ease." 

"Yes,"  said  he, — "  do  you  remember  that  word — 'The  stones  of 
fche  field  shall  be  at  peace  with  thee  '  ?  " 

•»  I  am  afraid  people  would  understand  you  as  little  as  they  would 
pie,  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Fleda  laughing. 

He  smiled,  rather  a  prolonged  smile,  the  expression  of  which 
Flevla  could  not  make  out ;  she  felt  that  she  did  not  quite  under 
stand  him. 

"I  have  thought,"  said  he  after  a  pause,  "  that  much  of  the 
beatity  we  find  in  many  things  is  owing  to  a  hidden  analogy — the 
har*aony  they  make  with  some  unknown  string  of  the  mind's  harp 
which  they  have  set  a  vibrating.  But  the  music  of  that  is  so  low 
and  soft  that  one  must  listen  very  closely  to  find  out  what  it  is." 

"  Why  that  is  the  very  theory  of  which  I  gave  you  a  smoky  il 
lustration  a  little  while  ago,"  said  Fleda.  "  I  thought  I  was  on 
safe  ground,  after  what  you  said  about  the  characters  of  flowers, 
for  that  was  a  little — " 

"  Fanciful?  "  said  he  smiling. 

"  What  you  please,"  said  Fleda  coloring  a  little, — "  I  am  sure  it 
/s  true.  The  theory,  I  mean.  I  have  many  a  time  felt  it,  though  I 
never  put  it  in  words.  I  shall  think  of  that." 

"  Did  you  ever  happen  to  see  the  very  early  dawn  of  a  winter's 
fnorning?"  said  he. 

But  he  laughed  the  next  instant  at  the  comical  expression  of 
Fleda  s  face  as  it  was  turned  to  him. 

"  Forgive  me  for  supposing  you  as  ignorant  as  myself.  I  have 
»een  it — once." 

"  Appreciated  it,  I  hope,  that  time  ?  "  said  Fleda. 

"  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

;' And  it  never  wrought  in  you  a  desire  to  see  it  again  ?" 

"I  might  see  many  a  dawn,"  said  he  smiling,  "  without  what  I 
jtaw  then.  It  was  very  early — and  a  cloudy  morning,  so  that  night 
had  still  almost  undisturbed  possession  of  earth  and  sky  ,  but  in 
the  south-eastern  quarter,  between  two  clouds,  there  was  a  space 
of  fair  white  promise,  hardly  making  any  impression  upon  the  dark 
ness  but  only  set  off  by  it.  And  upon  this  one  bright  spot  in  earth 
or  heaven,  rode  the  planet  of*  the  morning — the  sun's  forerunner — 
bright  upon  the  brightness.  All  else  was  dusky — except  where 
overhead  the  clouds  had  parted  again  and  showed  a  faint  old 
moon,  glimmering  down  upon  the  night  it  could  no  longer  be  said 
to  '  rule'." 


QUEECHY.  415 

•'Beautiful!  "  said  Fleda.  "There  is  hardly  any  time  I  like  so 
well  as  the  dawn  of  a  winter  morning  with  an  old  moon  in  the  sky. 
Summer  weather  has  no  beauty  like  it — in  some  things." 

"  Once,"  continued  Mr.  Carleton,  "  I  should  have  seen  no  more 
than  I  have  told  you — the  beauty  that  every  cultivated  eye  must 
take  in.  But  now,  methought  I  saw  the  dayspring  that  has  come 
upon  a  longer  night — and  from  out  of  the  midst  of  it  there  was  the 
fair  face  of  the  morning  star  looking  at  me  with  its  sweet  reminder 
and  invitation — looking  over  the  world  with  its  aspect  of  triumphan 
expectancy  ; — there  was  its  calm  assurance  of  the  coming  day,— 
its  promise  that  the  star  of  hope  which  now  there  were  only  a  fev. 
watching  eyes  to  see,  should  presently  be  followed  by  the  full  beams 
of  the  Sun  of  righteousness  making  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  his 
own. — Your  memory  may  bring  to  you  the  words  that  carne  to  mine, 
— the  promise  '  to  him  that  overcometh  ',  and  the  beauty  of  the  lips 
that  made  it — the  encouragement  to  '  patient  continuance  in  well 
iloing  ',  '  till  the  day  break  and  the  shadows  flee  away.' — And  there 
on  the  other  hand  was  the  substituted  light  of  earth's  wisdom  and 
inventions,  dominant  yet,  but  waning  and  soon  to  be  put  out  foi 
ever." 

Fleda  was  crying  again,  and  perhaps  that  was  the  reason  why 
Mr.  Carleton  was  silent  for  some  time.  She  was  very  sorry  to  show 
herself  so  weak,  but  she  could  not  help  it ;  part  of  his  words  had 
come  too  close.  And  when  she  had  recovered  again  she  was  abso< 
iutely  silent  too,  for  they  were  nearing  Sloman-street  and  she  could 
not  take  him  there  with  her.  She  did  not  know  what  to  say,  nor 
what  he  would  think  ;  and  she  said  not  another  word  till  they  came 
to  the  corner.  There  she  must  stop  and  speak. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Carleton,"  she  said  draw 
ing  her  hand  from  his  arm,  "  for  taking  care  of  me  all  this  disagree 
able  way — I  will  not  give  you  any  more  trouble." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  dismiss  me  ?  "  said  he  looking  at  her  with 
a  countenance  of  serious  anxiety. 

:'  I  must,'1  said  Fleda  ingenuously, — "  I  have  business  to  attend 
to  here — " 

"  But  you  will  let  me  have  the  pleasure  of  waiting  for  you  ?" 

"O  no,"  said  Fleda  hesitating  and  flushing, — "  thank  you,  Mr 
Carleton, — but  pray  do  not — I  don't  know  at  all  how  long  I  may  be 
detained." 

He  bowed,  she  thought  gravely,  and  turned  away,  and  she  en 
cered  the  little  wretched  street ;  with  a  strange  feeling  of  pain  that 
she  could  not  analyze.  She  did  not  know  where  it  came  from,  but 
she  thought  if  there  only  had  been  a  hiding-place  for  her  she  could 
have  sat  down  and  wept  a  whole  heartful.  The  feeling  must  be 
kept  back  now,  and  it  was  soon  forgotten  in  the  throbbing  of  her 
heart  at  another  thought  which  took  entire  possession. 

The  sun  was  not  down,  there  was  time  enough,  but  it  was  with  a 
step  and  eye  of  hurried  anxiety  that  Fleda  passed  along  the  little 
street,  for  fgar  of  missing  her  quest  or  lest  Dinah  should  have 
changed  her  domicil.  Yet  would  her  uncle  have  named  it  for  their 
meeting  if  he  had  not  been  sure  of  it  ?  It  was  very  odd  he  should 
have  appointed  that  place  at  all,  and  Fleda  was  inclined  to  think  he 
tnust  have  seen  Dinah  by  some  cnance,  or  it  never  would  have 


416  QUEECHY. 

come  into  his  head.  Still  her  eye  passed  unheeding  over  all  the 
varieties  of  dinginess  and  misery  in  her  way,  intent  only  upon  rind 
ing  that  particular  dingy  cellar- way  which  used  to  admit  her  to 
Dinah's  premises.  It  was  found  at  last,  and  she  went  in. 

The  old  woman,  herself  most  unchanged,  did  not  know  the  young 
!adyp  but  well  remembered  the  little  girl  whom  Fleda  brought  to 
her  mind.  And  then  she  was  overjoyed  to  see  her,  and  asked  a 
multitude  of  questions,  and  told  a  long  story  of  her  having  met  Mr. 
.Rossitur  in  the  street  the  other  day  "  in  the  last  place  where  she'd 
lave  looked  to  see  him;"  and  how  old  he  had  grown,  and  ho* 
surprised  she  had  been  to  see  the  gray  hairs  in  his  head.  Fleda  at 
last  gave  her  to  understand  that  she  expected  him  to  meet  her  there 
n.id  would  like  to  see  him  alone  ;  and  the  good  woman  immediately 
sook  her  work  into  another  apartment,  made  up  the  fire  and  set  up 
.'he  chairs,  and  leaving  her  assured  Fleda  she  would  lock  up  the 
doors  "  and  not  let  no  one  come  through." 

It  was  sundown,  and  later,  Fleda  thought,  and  she  felt  as  if 
every  pulse  was  doing  double  duty.  No  matter — if  she  were  shat 
tered  and  the  work  done.  But  what  work! — Oh  the  needlessness, 
the  cruelty,  the  folly  of  it!  And  how  much  of  the  ill  consequences 
she  might  be  unable  after  all  to  ward  off.  She  took  off  her  hat,  to 
relieve  a  nervous  smothered  feeling  ;  and  walked,  and  sat  down  ; 
and  then  sat  still,  from  trembling  inability  to  do  anything  else. 
Dinah's  poor  little  room,  clean  though  it  was,  looked  to  her  the 
most  dismal  place  in  the  world  from  its  association  with  her  errand ; 
she  hid  her  face  on  her  knees  that  she  might  have  no  disagreeable- 
ness  to  contend  with  but  that  which  could  not  be  shut  out. 

It  had  lain  there  some  time,  till  a  sudden  feeling  of  terror  at  the 
growing  lateness  made  her  raise  it  to  look  at  the  window.  Mr. 
Rossitur  was  standing  still  before  her,  he  must  have  come  in  very 
softly, — and  looking, — oh  Fleda  had  not  imagined  him  looking  so 
chaniged.  All  was  forgotten, — the  wrong,  and  the  needlessness, 
and  the  indignation  with  which  she  had  sometimes  thought  of  it  ; 
Fleda  remembered  nothing  but  love  and  pity,  and  threw  herself 
upon  his  neck  with  such  tears  of  tenderness  and  sympathy,  such 
kisses  of  forgiveness  and  comfort-speaking,  as  might  have  broken 
,-:<  stouter  heart  than  Mr.  Rossitur' s.  He  held  her  in  his  arms  for  a 
few  minutes,  passively  suffering  her  caresses,  and  then  gently  un- 
oosing  her  hold  placed  her  on  a  seat  ;  sat  down  a  little  way  off, 
Covered  his  face  and  groaned  aloud. 

Fleda  could  not  recover  herself  at  once.  Then  shaking  off  her 
agitation  she  came  and  knelt  down  by  his  side  and  putting  one  arm 
over  his  shoulders  laid  her  cheek  against  his  forehead.  Words 
were  beyond  reach,  but  his  forehead  was  wet  with  her  tears  ;  and 
kisses,  of  soft  entreaty,  of  winning  assurance,  said  all  she  could  say. 

"What  did  you  come  here  for,  Fleda?"  said  Mr.  Rossitur  at 
length,  without  changing  his  position. 

"  To  bring  you  home,  uncle  Rolf." 

"Home!"  said  he,  with  an  accent  between  bitterness  and  de 
spair. 

"  Yes,  for  it's  all  over,  it's  all  forgotten — there  is  no  more  to  be 
said  about  it  at  all,"  said  Fleda.-getting  her  wo^ds  out  she  didn't 
know 


QUEEVffY.  417 

1  What  is  forgotten  ?"  said  he  harshly. 

:/  Ail  that  you  would  wish,  sir,'*  replied  Fleda  softly  and  gently  ; 
~"  there  is  no  more  to  be  done  about  it  ;  and  I  came  to  tell  you 
ir  possible  before  it  was  too  late.  Oh  I'm  so  glad  ! — "  and  her 
arms  and  her  cheek  pressed  closer  as  fresh  tears  stopped  her  voice. 

"  How  do  you  know,  Fleda?  "  said  Mr.  Rossitur  raising  his  head 
and  bringing  hers  to  his  shoulder,  white  his  arms  in  turn  enclosed 
her. 

Fleda  whispered,  "  He  told  me  so  himself." 

"Who?" 

"  Mr.  Thorn." 

The  words  were  but  just  spoken  above  her  breath.  Mr.  Rossitw 
was  silent  for  some  time. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  understood  him?" 

"  Yes  sir ;  it  could  not  have  been  spoken  plainer.** 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  he  meant  what  he  said,  Fleda?  " 

41  Perfectly  sure,  uncle  Rolf!   I  know  he  did." 

"  What  stipulation  did  he  make  beforehand  ?" 

"  He  did  it  without  any  stipulation,  sir." 

"What  was  his  inducement  then?  If  I  know  him  he  is  not  a 
man  to  act  without  any." 

Fleda's  cheek  was  dyed,  but  except  that  she  gave  no  other  an 
swer. 

"Why  has  it  been  left  so  long?"  said  her  uncle  presently. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir — he  said  nothing  about  that.  He  promised 
that  neither  we  nor  the  world  should  hear  anything  more  of  it." 

"The  world?—"  said  Mr.  Rossitur. 

"  No  sir,  he  said  that  only  one  or  two  persons  had  any  notion  of 
it  and  that  their  secrecy  he  had  the  means  of  securing." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  anything  more  ?  " 

"  Only  that  he  had  the  matter  entirely  under  his  control  and  that 
never  a  whisper  of  it  should  be  heard  again.  No  promise  could  be 
given  more  fully  and  absolutely." 

Mr.  Rossitur  drew  a  long  breath,  speaking  to  Fleda's  ear  very 
great  relief,  and  was  silent. 

"And  what  reward  is  he  to  have  for  this,  Fleda?  "  he  said  after 
some  musing. 

"  All  that  my  hearty  thanks  and  gratitude  can  give,  as  far  as  I 
am  concerned,  sir." 

"  Is  that  what  he  expects,  Fleda  ?" 

"  I  cannot  help  what  he  expects,"  said  Fleda,  in  some  distress. 

c<  What  have  you  engaged  yourself  to,  my  child?" 

"  Nothing  in  the  world,  uncle  Rolf!"  said  Fleda  earnestly— 
"  nothing  in  the  world.  I  haven't  engaged  myself  to  anything. 
The  promise  was  made  freely,  without  any  sort  of  stipulation." 

Mr.  Rossitur  looked  thoughtful  and  disquieted.  Fleda's  tears 
were  pouring  again. 

"  I  will  not  trust  him,"  he  said, — "I  will  not  stay  in  the  coun 
ty!" 

But  you  will  come  home,  uncle?"  said  Fleda,  terrified. 

"Yes  my  dear  child-  yes  my  dear  child!"  he  said  tenderly, 
putting  his  arms  round  Fleda  again  and  kissing,  with  an  earnest 
ness  of  acknowledgment  that  went  to  her  heart,  her  lips  and  brow, 


«18  QUEECffY. 

— "  you  shall  do  what  you  will  with  me  ;  and  when  I  go,  we  w!8 
all  go  together." 

From  Queechy  !  From  America  ! — But  she  had  no  time  for  thai 
thought  now. 

"You  said  'for  Hugh's  sake,'"  Mr.  Rossitur  observed  after  a 
pause,  and  with  some  apparent  difficulty  ; — "  what  of  him  ?  " 

"He  is  not  well,  uncle  Rolf,"  said  Fleda, — "  and  I  think  the 
best  medicine  will  be  the  sight  of  you  again." 

Mr.  Rossitur  looked  pale  and  was  silent  a  moment. 

"  And  my  wife  ?  "  he  said. 

His  face,  and  the  thought  of  those  faces  at  home,  were  too  muck 
for  Fleda  ;  she  could  not  help  it  ;  "  Oh,  uncle  Rolf,"  she  said  hid 
ing  her  face,  "  they  only  want  to  see  you  again  now !  " 

Mr.  Rossitur  leaned  his  head  in  his  hands  and  groaned  ;  and 
Fleda  could  but  cry  ;  she  felt  there  was  nothing  to  say. 

"  It  was  for  Marion,"  he  said  at  length  ; — "  it  was  when  I  was 
hard  pressed  and  I  was  fearful  if  it  were  known  that  it  might  ruin 
her  prospects. -^-l  wanted  that  miserable  sum — only  four  thousand 
dollars — that  fellow  Schwiden  asked  to  borrow  it  of  me  for  a  few 
days,  and  to  refuse  would  have  been  to  confess  all.  I  dared  not 
try  my  credit,  and  I  just  madly  took  that  step  that  proved  irretriev 
able — I  counted  at  the  moment  upon  funds  that  were  coming  to  me 
only  the  next  week,  sure,  I  thought,  as  possible, — but  the  man 
cheated  me,  and  our  embarrassments  thickened  from  that  time  ; 
that  thing  has  been  a  weight — oh  a  weight  of  deadening  power  !—/. 
round  my  neck  ever  since.  I  have  died  a  living  death  these  six 
ynars! — " 

"I  know  it,  dear  uncle — I  know  it  all!"  said  Fleda,  bringing 
the  sympathizing  touch  of  her  cheek  to  his  again. 

"The  good  that  it  did  has  been  unspeakably  overbalanced  by 
th«  evil — even  long  ago  1  knew  that." 

'The  good  that  it  did '  !  It  was  no  time  then  to  moralize,  but  he 
must  know  that  Marion  was  at  home,  or  he  might  incautiously  re 
veal  lo  her  what  happily  there  was  no  necessity  for  her  ever  know 
ing*  And  the  story  must  give  him  great  and  fresh  pain 

"Dear  uncle  Rolf!"  said  Fleda  pressing  closer  to  him, — "we 
may  be  happier  than  we  have  been  in  a  long  time,  if  you  will  only 
«ake  it  so.  The  cloud  upon  you  has  been  a  cloud  upon  us." 

"« I  know  it!  "  he  exclaimed, — "  a  cloud  that  served  to  show  me 
ihat  my  jewels  were  diamonds !  " 

'<=  You  have  an  accession  to  your  jewels,  uncle  Rolf." 

*•  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I  mean,"  said  Fleda  trembling,  "that  there  are  twc  more  at 
home," 

He  held  her  back  to  look  at  her. 

"  Can't  you  guess  who?" 

"  No  !  "  said  he.     "  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  must  tell  you,  because  they  know  nothing,  and  needn't  know, 
of  all  this  matter." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 

"  Marion  is  there " 

Marion!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Rossitur,  with  quick  change!  of  «*.'• 
,— •«  Marion  I— At  Queechv  i—  and  her  " 


QUEECBX.  41P 

"  No  sir,— a  dear  little  child." 

"  Marion  ! — and  her  husband— where  is  he?*' 

Fleda  hesitated. 

"  I  don't  know — I  don't  know  whether  she  knows — ** 

"Is  he  dead?" 

"  No  sir — " 

M  .  Rossitur  put  her  away  and  got  up  and  walked,  or  strode,  up 
and  down,  up  and  down,  the  little  apartment.     Fleda  dared  nc, 
•look    at   him,    even    by    the    faint   glimmer  that   came   from   the 
himney. 

But  abroad  it  was  perfectly  dark — the  stars  were  shining,  the 
only  lamps  that  illumined  the  poor  little  street,  and  for  a  long  time 
che*e  had  been  no  light  in  the  room  but  that  of  me  tiny  wood  fire. 
Dinah  never  could  be  persuaded  of  the  superior  cheapness  of  coal. 
Fleda  came  at  last  to  her  uncle's  side  and  putting  her  arm  within 
his  said, 

44  How  soon  will  you  set  off  for  home,  uncle  Rolf!  " 

"  To-morrow  morning." 

11  You  must  take  the  boat  to  Bridgeport  now — you  know  the  river 
is  fast." 

"  Yes  I  know " 

14  Then  I  will  meet  you  at  the  wharf,  uncle  Rolf, — at  what 
o'clock?" 

11  My  dear  child,"  said  he  stopping  and  passing  his  hand  tenderly 
over  her  cheek,  "are  you  fit  for  it  to-morrow?  You  had  better 
stay  where  you  are  quietly  for  a  few  days — you  want  rest." 

4<  No,  I  will  go  home  with  you,"  said  Fleda,  "  and  rest  there. 
But  hadn't  we  better  let  Dinah  in  and  bid  her  good-bye  ?  for  1  ought 
to  be  somewhere  else  to  get  ready." 

Dinah  was  called,  and  a  few  kind  words  spoken,  and  with  a 
more  substantial  remembrance,  or  reward,  from  Fleda's  hand,  they 
left  her. 

Fleda  had  the  support  01*  her  uncle's  arm  till  they  came  wf.thin 
sight  of  the  house,  and  then  he  stood  and  watched  her  while  she 
went  the  rest  of  the  way  alone. 

Anything  more  white  and  spirit-looking,  and  more  spiri*  l;»ke,  in 
its  purity  and  peacefulness,  surely  did  not  walk  that  night.  There 
was  music  in  her  ear,  and  abroad  in  the  star-light,  more  ethereal 
than  Ariel's,  but  she  knew  where  it  came  from  ;  it  was  the  chimes 
Df  her  heart  that  were  ringing  ;  and  never  a  happier  peal,  nor  neve? 
had  the  mental  atmosphere  been  more  clear  for  their  sounding. 
Thankfulness, — that  was  the  oftenest  note,— swelling  thankfulness 
for  her  success,— joy,  for  herself  and  for  the  dear  ones  at  home, — 
generous  delight  at  having  been  the  instrument  of  the^r  relief, — the 
harmonies  of  pure  affections,  without  any  grating  now, — the  hope* 
\yell  grounded  she  thought,  of  improvement  in  her  uncle  and  better 
times  for  them  all, — a  childlike  peace  that  was  at  rest  with  itself 
and  the  world, — these  were  mingling  and  interchanging  their  rnusic, 
and  again  and  again  in  the  midst  of  it  all,  faith  rang  the  last  thime 
in  heaven. 


QUEECHF. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

As  some  lone  bird  at  day's  departing  hour    • 
Sings  in  the  sunbeam  of  the  transient  shon'feT, 
Forgetful  though  its  wings  are  wet  the  while. 

BOWLES. 

HAPPILY  possessed  with  the  notion  that  there  was  some  hidden 
mystery  in  Fleda's  movements,  Mrs.  Pritchard  said  not  a  word 
about  her  having  gone  out,  and  only  spoke  in  looks  her  pain  at  the 
imprudence  of  which  she  had  been  guilty.  But  when  Fleda  askec 
to  have  a  carriage  ordered  to  take  her  to  the  boat  in  the  morning 
the  good  housekeeper  could  not  hold  any  longer. 

"Miss  Fleda,"  said  she  with  a  look  of  very  serious  remonstrance, 
— "  I  don't  know  what  you're  thinking  of,  but  /know  you're  fixing 
to  kill  yourself.  You  are  no  more  fit  to  go  to  Queechy  to-morrow 
than  you  were  to  be  out  till  seven  o'clock  this  evening  ;  and  if  you 
saw  yourself  you  wouldn't  want  me  to  say  any  more.  There  is  not 
the  least  morsel  of  color  in  your  face,  and  you  look  as  if  you  had  a 
mind  to  get  rid  of  your  body  altogether  as  fast  as  you  can  !  You 
want  to  be  in  bed  for  two  days  running,  now  this  minute." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  Mrs.  Pritchard,"  said  Fleda  smiling  ; — "  you 
are  very  careful  of  me  ;  but  I  must  go  home  to-morrow,  and  go  to 
bed  afterward." 

The  housekeeper  looked  at  her  a  minute  in  silence,  and  then  said, 
"Don't,  dear  Miss  Fleda!"  with  an  energy  of  entreaty,  which 
brought  the  tears  into  Fleda's  eyes.  But  she  persisted  in  desiring 
the  carriage  ;  and  Mrs.  Pritchard  was  silenced,  observing  however 
that  she  shouldn't  wonder  if  she  wasn't  able  to  go  after  all.  Fleda 
herself  was  not  without  a  doubt  on  the  subject  before  the  evening 
was  over.  The  reaction,  complete  now,  began  to  make  itself  felt  ; 
and  morning  settled  the  question.  She  was  not  able  even  to  rise 
from  her  bed. 

The  housekeeper  was,  in  a  sort,  delighted  ;  and  Fleda  was  in  to® 
passive  a  mood  of  body  and  mind  to  have  any  care  on  the  subject. 
The  agitation  of  the  past  days  had  given  way  to  an  absolute  quief 
ihat  seemed  as  if  nothing  could  ever  ruffle  it  again,  and  this  feeling 
was  seconded  by  the  extreme  prostration  of  body.  She  was  a  mere 
child  in  the  hands  of  her  nurse,  and  had,  Mrs.  Pritchard  said,  "  if 
she  wouldn't  mind  her  telling, — the  sweetest  baby-face  that  ever 
had  so  much  sense  belonging  to  it." 

The  morning  was  half  spent  in  dozing  slumbers,  when  Fleda 
heard  a  rush  of  footsteps,  much  lighter  and  sprightlier  than  good 
Mrs.  Pritchard's  coming  up  the  stairs  and  pattering  along  the  entry 
to  her  room  ;  and  with  little  ceremony  in  rushed  Florence  and  Con 
stance  Evelyn.  They  almost  smothered  Fleda  with  their  delighted 
caresses,  and  ran  so  hard  their  questions  about  her  looks  and  her 
iDness,  that  she  was  well  nigh  spared  the  trouble  of  answering. 

"  You  horrid  little  creature  !  "  said  Constance,- — "  why  didn't  you 
come  straight  to  our  house  ?  just  think  of  the  injurious  suspicions  y<Hf 


QUEECHY.  421 

have  exposed  us  to  ! — to  say  nothing  of  the  extent  of  fiction  we  have 
found  ourselves  obliged  to  execute.  I  didn't  expect  it  of  you,  little 
Queechy." 

Fleda  kept  her  pale  face  quiet  on  the  pillow,  and  only  smiled  her 
Incredulous  curiosity. 

"  But  when  did  you  come  back,  Fleda?  "  said  Miss  Evelyn. 

"  We  should  never  have  known  a  breath  about  your  being  here," 
Constance  went  on.  "We  were  sittin'g  last  night  in  peaceful  un 
consciousness  of  there  being  any  neglected  calls  upon  our  friend 
ship  in  the  vicinity,  when  Mr.  Carleton  came  in  and  asked  for  you<> 
Imagine  our  horror  ! — we  said  you  had  gone  out  early  in  the  after' 
noon  and  had  not  returned." 

"  You  didn't  say  that !  "  said  Fleda  coloring. 

"  And  he  remarked  at  some  length,"  said  Constance,  "  upon  the 
importance  of  young  ladies'  having  some  attendance  when  they  are 
out  late  in  the  evening,  and  that  you  in  particular  were  one  of  those 
persons — he  didn't  say,  but  he  intimated,  of  a  slightly  volatile  dis 
position, — whom  their  friends  ought  not  to  lose  sight  of." 

"  But  what  brought  you  to  town  again,  Fleda?"  said  the  elder 
sister. 

"  What  makes  you  talk  so,  Constance  ?"  said  Fleda. 

"  I  haven't  told  you  the  half!  "  said  Constance  demurely.  "  And 
then  mamma  excused  herself  as  well  as  she  could,  and  Mr.  Carle- 
ton  said  very  seriously  that  he  knew  there  was  a  great  element  of 
headstrongness  in  your  character — he  had  remarked  it,  he  said, 
when  you  were  arguing  with  Mr.  Stackpole." 

"Constance,  be  quiet!"  said  her  sister.  "  Will  you  tell  me, 
Fleda,  what  you  have  come  to  town  for?  I  am  dying  with  curi 
osity." 

"  Then  it's  inordinate  curiosity,  and  ought  to  be  checked,  my 
dear,"  said  Fleda  smiling. 

"Tell  me  !  " 

"  I  came  to  take  care  of  some  business  that  could  not  very  well 
be  attended  to  at  a  distance." 

"  Who  did  you  come  with  ?  " 

"  One  of  our  Queechy  neighbors  that  I  heard  was  coming  to  New 
York." 

"  Wasn't  your  uncle  at  home  ?  " 

"Of  course  not.  If  he  had  been,  there  would  have  been  no  need 
of  my  stirring." 

'  But  was  there  nobody  else  to  do  it  but  you?  " 

c-  Uncle  Orrin  away,  you  know  ;  and  Charlton  down  at  his  post 
•—Fort  Hamilton,  it  is  ? — I  forget  which  fort — he  is  fast  there." 

"  He  is  not  so  very  fast,"  said  Constance,  "  for  I  see  him  every 
now  and  then  in  Broadway  shouldering  Mr.  Thorn  instead  of  a 
musket ;  and  he  has  taken  up  the  distressing  idea  that  it  is  part  of 
his  duty  to  oversee  the  progress  of  Florence's  worsted-work — (I've 
made  over  that  horrid  thing  to  her,  Fleda) — or  else  his  precision, 
has  been  struck  with  the  anomaly  of  blue  stars  on  a  white  ground, 
and  he  is  studying  that, — I  don't  know  which, — and  so  every  few 
nights  he  rushes  over  from  Governor's  Island,  or  somewhere,  to 
prosecute  enquiries.  Mamma  is  quite  concerned  about  him — she 
says  he  is  wearing  himself  out." 


422  QUEEQHY. 

The  mixture  of  amusement,  admiration,  and  affection,  with  which 
the  other  sister  looked  at  her  and  laughed  with  her  was  a  pretty 
thing  to  see. 

"  But  where  is  your  other  cousin, — Hugh?  "  said  Florence. 

"  He  was  not  well." 

"  Where  is  your  uncle  ?  " 

"  He  will  be  at  home  to-day  I  expect ;  and  so  should  I  have  been 
• — I  meant  to  <-e  there  as  soon  as  he  was, — but  I  found  this  morning 
that  1  was  not  well  enough, — to  my  sorrow." 

"You  were  not  going  alone  !  " 

"  O  no — a  friend  of  ours  was  going  to-day." 

'  I  never  saw  anybody  with  so  many  friends!  "  said  Florence. 
•'  But  you  are  coming  to  us  now,  Fleda.  How  soon  are  you  going 
io  get  up  ?  " 

"  O  by  to-morrow,"  said  Fleda  smiling  ; — "but  I  had  better  stay 
where  I  am  the  little  while  I  shall  be  here — I  must  go  home  the 
first  minute  I  can  find  an  opportunity.", 

"  But  you  sha'n't  find  an  opportunity  till  we've  had  you,"  said 
Constance.  "I'm  going  to  bring  a  carriage  for  you  this  afternoon. 
I  could  bear  the  loss  of  your  friendship,  my  dear,  but  not  the  peril 
of  my  own  reputation.  Mr.  Carleton  is  under  the  impression  that 
you  are  suffering  from  a  momentary  succession  of  fainting  fits,  and 
if  we  were  to  leave  you  here  in  an  empty  house  to  come  out  of 
them  at  your  leisure,  what  would  he  think  of  us?  " 

What  would  he  think  ! — Oh  world  !     Is  this  it  ? 

But  Fteoa  was  not  able  to  be  moved  in  the  afternoon  ;  and  it 
soon  appeared  that  nature  would  take  more  revenge  than  a  day's 
sleep  for  the  rough  handling  she  had  had  the  past  week.  Fleda 
could  not  rise  from  her  bed  the  next  morning  ;  and  instead  of  that 
a  kind  of  nondescript  nervous  fever  set  in  ;  nowise  dangerous,  but 
very  wearying.  She  was  nevertheless  extremely  glad  of  it,  for  it 
would  serve  to  explain  to  all  her  friends  the  change  of  look  which 
had  astonished  them.  They  would  make  it  now  the  token  of  com 
ing,  not  of  past,  evil.  The  rest  she  took  with  her  accustomed  pa 
tience  and  quietness,  thankful  for  everything  after  the  anxiety  and 
the  relief  she  had  just  before  known. 

Dr.  Gregory  came  home  from  Philadelphia  in  the  height  of  her 
attack,  and  aggravated  it  for  a  day  or  two  with  the  fear  of  his  ques 
tioning.  But  Fleda  was  surprised  at  his  want  of  curiosity.  He 
asked  her  indeed  what  she  had  come  to  town  for,  but  her  whispered 
answer  of  "  Business,"  seemed  to  satisfy  him,  for  he  did  not  in 
quire  what  the  business  was.  He  did  ask  her  furthermore  what  had 
ai>ade  her  get  sick  ;  but  this  time  he  was  satisfied  more  easily  still, 
with  a  very  curious  sweet  smile  which  was  the  utmost  reply  Fleda' s 
wits  at  the  moment  could  frame.  "  Well,  get  well,"  said  he  kiss 
ing  her  heartily  once  or  twice,  "  and  I  won't  quarrel  with  you  about 
it." 

The  getting  well  however  promised  to  be  a  leisurely  affair.  Dr. 
Gregory  staid  two  or  three  days,  and  then  went  on  to  Boston,  leav 
ing  Fleda  in  no  want  of  him. 

Mrs.  Pritchard  was  the  tenderest  and  carefuilest  of  nurses.  The 
Evelyns  did  everything  but  nurse  her.  They  sat  by  her,  talked  to 
her,  made  her  laugh,  and  not  seldom  made  her  look  sober  too,  witb 


QUEECHT.  433 

their  wild  tales  of  the  world  and  the  world's  doings.  But  they  WCM 
indeed  very^iffectionate  ai^  kind,  and  Fleda  loved  them  for  it.  If 
they  wearied  her  sometimes  with  their*  talk,  it  was  a  change  from 
the  weariness  of  fever  and  silence  that  on  the  whole  was  useful. 

She  was  quieting  herself  one  morning,  as  well  as  she  could,  in 
ihe  midst  of  both,  lying  with  shut  eyes  against  her  pillow,  and  try 
ing  to  fix  her  mind  on  pleasant  things,  when  she  heard  Mrs.  Pritch 
ard  open  the  door  and  come  in.  She  knew  it  was  Mrs.  Pritch- 
ard  so  she  didn't  move  nor  look.  But  in  a  moment,  the  knowledge 
that  Mrs.  Pritchard's  feet  had  stopped  just  by  the  bed,  and  a  strange 
sensation  of  something  delicious  saluting  her,  made  her  open  her 
eyes  ;  when  they  lighted  upon  a  huge  bunch  of  violets,  just  before 
them  and  in  most  friendly  neighborhood  to  her  nose.  Fleaa 
started  up,  and  her  "Oh  !  "  fairly  made  the  housekeeper  laugh  ;  it 
was  the  very  quintessence  of  gratification. 

"  Where  did  you  get  them  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  get  them  indeed,  Miss  Fleda,"  said  the  housekeeper 
gravely,  with  an  immense  amount  of  delighted  satisfaction. 

"  Delicious  ! — Where  did  they  come  from  ?  " 

"  Well  they  must  have  come  from  a  greenhouse,  or  hothouse,  or 
something  of  that  kind,  Miss  Fleda, — these  things  don't  grow  no* 
where  out  o'  aoors  at  this  time." 

Mrs.  Pritchard  guessed  Fleda  had  got  the  clue,  from  her  quick 
change  of  color  and  falling  eye.  There  was  a  quick  little  smile 
too  ;  and  "  How  kind  !  "  was  upon  the  end  of  Fleda's  tongue,  but 
it  never  got  any  further.  Her  energies,  so  far  as  expression  was 
concerned,  seemed  to  be  concentrated  in  the  act  of  smelling.  Mrs. 
Pritchard  stood  by. 

"  They  must  be  put  in  water,"  said  Fleda, — "  I  must  have  a  dish 
for  them — Dear  Mrs.  Pritchard,  will  you  get  me  one  ?  " 

The  housekeeper  went,  smiling  to  herself.  The  dish  was  brought, 
the  violets  placed  in  it,  and  a  little  table  at  Fleda's  request  was  set 
by  the  side  of  the  bed,  close  to  her  pillow,  for  them  to  stand  upon* 
And  Fleda  lay  on  her  pillow  and  looked  at  them. 

There  never  were  purer-breathed  flowers  than  those.  All  the 
pleasant  associations  of  Fleda's  life  seemed  to  hang  about  them,, 
from  the  time  when  her  childish  eyes  had  first  made  acquaintance 
with  violets,  to  the  conversation  in  the  library  a  few  days  ago  ;  and 
painful  things  stood  aloof;  they  had  no  part.  The  freshness  of 
youth,  and  the  sweetness  of  spring-time,  and  all  the  kindly  influ 
ences  which  had  ever  joined  with  both  to  bless  her,  came  back  with 
their  blessing  in  the  violets'  reminding  breath.  Fleda  shut  her 
eyes  and  she  felt  it  ;  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  the  little  double  blue 
things  smiled  at  her  good-humoredly  and  said,  "  Here  \ve  are — you 
may  shut  them  again."  And  it  was  curious  how  often  Fleda  gave 
them  a  smile  back  as  she  did  so. 

Mrs.  Pritchard  thought  Fleda  lived  upon  the  violets  that  day 
rather  than  upon  food  and  medicine  ;  or  at  least,  she  said,  they 
agreed  remarkably  well  together.  And  the  next  day  it  was  much 
the  same. 

"  What  will  you  do  when  they  are  withered?  "  sh«  said  that  even 
ing.     "  I  shall  have  to  see  and  get  some  more  for  you." 

"  O  they  will  last  a  great  while,"  said  Fieda  smiling. 


424  QVEECHY. 

But  the  next  morning  Mrs.  Pritchar^  came  into  her  room  with  a 
great  bunch  of  roses,  the  very  like  of  the  one  Fleda  had  had  at  the 
Evelyns'.  She  delivered  them  with  a  sort  of  silent  triumph,  and 
then  as  before  stood  by  to  enjoy  Fleda  and  the  flowers  together. 
But  the  degree  of  Fleda's  wonderment,  pleasure,  and  gratitude, 
made  her  reception  of  them,  outwardly  at  least,  this  time  rather 
grave. 

"  You  may  throw  the  others  way  now,  Miss  Fleda,"  said  the 
housekeeper  smiling. 

"  Indeed  I  shall  not ! — " 

"The  violets,  I  suppose,  is  all  gone,"  Mrs.  Pritchard  went  on  '„ 
— - "but  I  never  did  see  such  a  bunch  of  roses  as  that  since  I  lived 
anywhere. — They  have  made  a  rose  of  you,  Miss  Fleda." 

"  How  beautiful! — "  was  Fleda's  answer. 

"Somebody — he  didn't  say  who — desired  to  know  particularly 
how  Miss  Ringgan  was  to-day." 

"  Somebody  is  very  kind  !  "  said  Fleda  from  the  bottom  of  her 
heart.  "  But  dear  Mrs.  Pritchard,  I  shall  want  another  dish." 

Somebody  was  kind,  she  thought  more  and  more  ;  for  there  came 
every  day  or  two  the  most  delicious  bouquets,  every  day  different. 
They  were  at  least  equal  in  their  soothing  and  refreshing  influences 
to  all  the  efforts  of  all  the  Evelyns  and  Mrs.  Pritchard  put  to 
gether.  There  never  came  any  name  with  them,  and  there  never 
was  any  need.  Those  bunches  of  flowers  certainly  had  a  physiog 
nomy  ;  and  to  Fleda  were  (not  the  flowers  but  the  choosing,  cut 
ting,  and  putting  of  them  together)  the  embodiment  of  an  amount 
of  grace,  refined  feeling,  generosity,  and  kindness,  that  her  imagi 
nation  never  thought  of  in  connection  with  but  one  person.  And 
his  kindness  was  answered,  perhaps  Mrs.  Pritchard  better  than 
Fleda  guessed  how  well,  from  the  delighted  color  and  sparkle  of 
the  eye  with  which  every  fresh  arrival  was  greeted  as  it  walked 
into  her  room.  By  Fleda's  order  the  bouquets  were  invariably  put 
out  of  sight  before  the  Evelyns  made  their  first  visit  in  the  morn 
ing,  and  not  brought  out  again  till  all  danger  of  seeing  them  any 
more  for  the  day  was  past.  The  regular  coming  of  these  floral 
messengers  confirmed  Mrs.  Pritchard  in  her  mysterious  surmises 
about  Fleda,  which  were  still  further  strengthened  by  this  incom 
prehensible  order  ;  and  at  last  she  got  so  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing 
:hat  if  she  heard  an  untimely  ring  at  the  door  she  would  catch  up  a 
glass  of  flowers  and  run  as  if  they  had  been  contraband,  without  a 
word  from  anybody. 

The  Evelyns  wrote  to  Mrs.  Rossitur,  by  Fleda's  desire,  so  as  not 
to  alarm  her  ;  merely  saying  that  Fleda  was  not  quite  well,  and  that 
they  meant  to  keep  her  a  little  while  to  recruit  herself ;  and  that 
Mrs.  Rossitur  must  send  her  some  clothes.  This  last  clause  was 
the  particular  addition  of  Constance. 

The  fever  lasted  a  fortnight,  and  then  went  off  by  degrees,  leav 
ing  her  with  a  very  small  portion  of  her  ordinary  strength.  Fleda 
was  to  go  to  the  Evelyns  as  soon  as  she  could  bear  it  ;  at  present 
she  was  only  able  to  come  down  to  the  little  back  parlor  and  sit 
in  the  doctor's  arm-chair,  and  eat  jelly,  and  sleep,  and  look  at 
Constance,  and  when  Constance  was  not  there  look  a-t  her  flowers. 
She  could  hardly  bear  a  book  as  yet.  She  hadn't  a  bit  of  color  in 


QUEECHY.  425 

her  face,  Mrs.  Pritchard  said,  but  she  looked  better  than  when  she 
<ame  to  town  ;  and  to  herself  the  good  housekeeper  added,  that 
she  looked  happier  too.  No  doubt  that  was  true.  Fleda's  princi 
pal  feeling,  ever  since  she  lay  down  in  her  bed,  had  been  thank 
fulness  ;  and  now  that  the  ease  of  returning  health  was  joined  to 
this  feeling,  her  face  with  all  its  subdued  gravity  was  as  untroubled 
in  its  expression  as  the  faces  of  her  flowers. 

She  was  disagreeably  surprised  one  day,  after  she  had  been  two 
or  three  days  down-stairs,  by  a  visit  from  Mrs.  Thorn.  In  her 
well-grounded  dread  of  seeing  one  person  Fleda  had  given  strict 
orders  that  no  gentleman  should  be  admitted  ;  she  had  not  counted 
upon  this  invasion.  Mrs.  Thorn  had  always  been  extremely  kind 
to  her,  but  though  Fleda  gave  her  credit  for  thorough  good-heart- 
edness,  and  a  true  liking  for  herself,  she  could  not  disconnect  her 
attentions  from  another  thought,  and  therefore  always  wished  them 
away  ;  and  never  had  her  kind  face  been  more  thoroughly  disa 
greeable  to  Fleda  than  when  it  made  its  appearance  in  the  doctor's 
little  back  parlor  on  this  occasion.  With  even  more  than  her  usual 
fondness,  of  Fleda's  excited  imagination  fancied  so,  Mrs.  Thorn 
lavished  caresses  upon  her,  and  finally  besought  her  to  go  out  and 
take  the  air  in  her  carriage.  Fleda  tried  most  earnestly  to  get 
rid  of  this  invitation,  and  was  gently  unpersuadable,  till  the  lady  at 
last  was  brought  to  promise  that  she  should  see  no  creature  during 
the  drive  but  herself.  An  ominous  promise  !  but  Fleda  did  not 
know  any  longer  how  to  refuse  without  hurting  a  person  for  whom 
she  had  really  a  grateful  regard.  So  she  went.  And  doubted  after 
ward  exceedingly  whether  she  had  done  well. 

She  took  special  good  care  to  see  nobody  again  till  she  went  to 
the  Evelyns.  But  then  precautions  were  at  an  end.  It  was  no 
longer  possible  to  keep  herself  shut  up.  She  had  cause,  poor  child, 
the  very  first  night  of  her  coming,  to  wish  herself  back  again. 

The  first  evening  she  would  fain  have  pleaded  weakness  as  her 
excuse  and  gone  to  her  room,  but  Constance  laid  violent  hands  01 
her  and  insisted  that  she  should  stay  at  least  a  little  while  with  them. 
And  she  seemed  fated  to  see  all  her  friends  in  a  bevy.  First  came 
Charlton  ;  then  followed  the  Decaturs,  whom  she  knew  and  liked 
very  well,  and  engrossed  her,  happily  before  her  cousin  had  time  tc 
make  any  enquiries  ;  then  came  Mr.  Carleton  ;  then  Mr.  Stackpole. 
Then  Mr.  Thorn,  in  expectation  of  whom  Fleda's  breath  had  beer, 
roming  and  going  painfully  all  the  evening.  She  could  not  meet 
him  without  a  strange  mixture  of  embarrassment  and  confusion 
with  the  gratitude  she  wished  to  express,  an  embarrassment  not  at 
all  lessened  by  the  air  of  happy  confidence  with  which  he  came 
forward  to  her.  It  carried  an  intimation  that  almost  took  away  the 
little  strength  she  had.  And  if  anything  could  have  made  his 
presence  more  intolerable,  it  was  the  feeling  she  could  not  get  rid  of 
that  it  was  the  cause  why  Mr.  Carleton  did  not  come  near  her 
again  ;  though  she  prolonged  her  stay  in  the  drawing-room  in  the 
hope  that  he  would.  It  proved  to  be  for  Mr.  Thorn's  benefit  alone. 

"  Well  you  staid  all  the  evening  after  all,"  said  Constance  as 
they  were  going  up-stairs. 

"  Yes — I  wish  I  hadn't,"  said  Fleda.  "  I  wonder  when  I  shall 
b*  likely  to  find  a  chance  of  getting  back  to  Queechy." 


426  QVEECHY. 

"You're  not  fit  yet,  so  you  needn't  trouble  yourself  about  it," 
said  Constance.  "  We'll  find  you  plenty  of  chances." 

Fleda  could  not  think  of  Mr.  Thorn  without  trembling.  His 
manner  meant — so  much  more  than  it  had  any  right,  or  than  she 
had  counted  upon.  He  seemed — she  pressed  her  hands  upon  her 
face  to  get  rid  of  the  impression — he  seemed  to  take  for  granted 
precisely  that  which  she  had  refused  to  admit ;  he  seemed  to 
reckon  as  paid  for  that  which  she  had  declined  to  set  a  price  upon. 
Her  uncle  s  words  and  manner  came  up  in  her  memory.  She 
could  see  nothing  best  to  do  but  to  get  home  as  fast  as  possible, 
She  had  no  one  here  to  fall  back  upon.  Again  that  vision  of  father 
and  mother  and  grandfather  flitted  across  her  fancy  ;  and  though 
Fleda' s  heart  ended  by  resting  down  on  that  foundation  to  which 
it  always  recurred,  it  rested  with  a  great  many  tears. 

For  several  days  she  denied  herself  absolutley  to  morning  visitors 
of  every  kind.  But  she  could  not  entirely  absent  herself  from  the 
drawing-room  in  the  evening  ;  and  whenever  the  family  were  at 
home  there  was  a  regular  levee.  Mr.  Thorn  could  not  be  avoided 
then.  He  was  always  there,  and  always  with  that  same  look  and 
manner  of  satisfied  confidence.  Fleda  was  as  grave,  as  silent,  as  re 
served,  as  she  could  possibly  be  and  not  be  rude  ;  but  he  seemed  to 
take  it  in  excellent  good  part,  as  being  half  indisposition  and  half 
timidity.  Fleda  set  her  face  earnestly  toward  home,  and  pressed 
Mrs.  Evelyn  to  find  her  an  opportunity,  weak  or  strong,  of  going 
there  ;  but  for  those  days  as  yet  none  presented  itself. 

Mr.  Carleton  was  at  the  house  almost  as  often  as  Mr.  Thorn, 
seldom  staying  so  long  however,  and  never  having  any  more  to  do 
with  Fleda  than  he  had  that  first  evening.  Whenever  he  did 
come  in  contact  with  her,  he  was,  she  thought,  as  grave  as  he  was 
graceful.  That  was  to  be  sure  his  common  manner  in  company, 
yet  she  could  not  help  thinking  there  was  some  difference  since  the 
walk  they  had  taken  together,  and  it  grieved  her. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

The  best-laid  schemes  o'  mice  and  men 
Gang  aft  agley. 


BURNS. 


AFTER  a  few  days  Charlton  verified  what  Constance  had  said 
about  his  not  being  very  fast  at  Fort  Hamilton,  by  coming  again  to 
see  them  one  morning.  Fleda  asked  him  if  he  could  not  get  an 
other  furlough  to  go  with  her  home,  but  he  declared  he  was  just 
spending  one  which  was  near  out  ;  and  he  could  not  hope  for  a 
third  in  some  time  ;  he  must  be  back  at  his  post  by  the  day  after 
to-morrow. 

"  When  do  you  want  to  go,  coz  ?  " 

"  I  would  to-morrow,  if  I  had  anybody  to  go  with  me,"  said  Fleda 
sighing. 

"No  you  wouldn't,"  said  Constance, — "  you  are  well  enough  to 
^o  out  now,  and  you  forget  we  are  all  to  make  Mrs.  Thorn  happy 
fa-morrow  night." 

"  I  am  not/'  said  Fleda. 


QUEECHY.  V& 

"  Not?  you  can't  help  yourself;  you  must ;  you  said  you  would.' 

'•I  did  not  indeed." 

"Well  then  I  said  it  for  you,  and  that  will  do  just  as  well. 
Why  my  dear,  if  you  don't — just  think! — the  Thorns  will  be  in  a 

state I  should  prefer  to  go  through  a  hedge  of   any    description 

rather  than  meet  the  trying  demonstrations  which  will  encounter  me 
on  every  side." 

"  I  am  going  to  Mrs.  Decatur's,"  said  Fleda  ;— "  she  invited  me 
first,  and  1  o\ve  it  to  her,  she  has  asked  me  so  often  and  so  kindly.' 

"  I  shouldn't  think  you'd  enjoy  yourself  there,"  said  Florence  ; 
*  they  don't  talk  a  bit  of  English  these  nights.  If  I  was  going,  my 
dear,  I  would  act  as  your  interpreter,  but  my  destiny  lies  in  another 
direction." 

"If  I  cannot  make  anybody  understand  my  French  I  will  get 
somebody  to  condescend  to  my  English,"  said  Fleda. 

"  Why  do  you  talk  French  ?  "  was  the  instant  question  from  both 
mouths. 

"Unless  she  has  forgotten  herself  strangely,"  said  Charlton. 
"Talk!  she  will  talk  to  anybody's  satisfaction— that  happens  to 
differ  from  her  ;  and  I  think  her  tongue  cares  very  little  which  lan 
guage  it  wags  in.  There  is  no  danger  about  Fleda's  enjoying  her 
self,  where  people  are  talking." 

Fleda  laughed  at  him,  and  the  Evelyns  rather  stared  at  them 
both. 

"  But  we  are  all  going  to  Mrs.  Thorn's  ?  you  can't  go  alone  ? 

"  I  will  make  Charlton  take  me,"  said  Fleda,—"  or  rather  I  will 
take  him,  if  he  will  let  me.  Will  you,  Charlton  ?  will  you  take  care 
of  me  to  Mrs.  Decatur's  to-morrow  night  ?  " 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure,  my  dear  coz,  but  I  have  another  en 
gagement  in  the  course  of  the  evening." 

"  O  that  is  nothing,"  said  Fleda  ; — "  if  you  will  only  go  with  me, 
that  is  all  I  care  for.  You  needn't  stay  but  ten  minutes.  And  you 
can  call  for  me,"  she  added,  turning  to  the  Evelyns, — "as  you 
come  back  from  Mrs.  Thorn's." 

To  this  no  objection  could  be  made,  and  the  ensuing  raillery 
Fleda  bore  with  steadiness  at  least  if  not  with  coolness  ;  for  Charl 
ton  heard  it,  and  she  was  distressed. 

She  went  to  Mrs.  Decatur's  the  next  evening  in  greater  elation  of 
spirits  than  she  had  known  since  she  left  her  uncle's  ;  delighted  tc 
be  missing  from  the  party  at  Mrs.  Thorn's,  and  hoping  that  Ivh 
Lewis  would  be  satisfied  with  this  very  plain  hint  of  her  mind,  h 
iittle  pleased  too  to  feel  quite  free,  alone  from  too  friendly  eyesr  and 
cars  that  had  too  lively  a  concern  in  her  sayings  and  doings.  She 
did  not  in  the  least  care  about  going  to  Mrs.  Decatur's  ;  her  joy 
was  that  she  was  not  at  the  other  place.  But  there  never  was  ela 
tion  so  outwardly  quiet.  Nobody  would  have  suspected  its  exist 
ence. 

The  evening  was  near  half  over  when  Mr.  Carleton  came  in. 
Fleda  had  half  hoped  he  would  be  there,  and  now  immediately 
hoped  she  might  have  a  chance  to  see  him  alone  and  to  thank  him 
for  his  flowers  ;  she  had  not  been  able  to  do  that  yet.  He  presently 
came  up  to  speak  to  her,  iust  as  Charlton,  who  had  fo»ind  attraction 
enough  to  keep  him  so  vong,  came  to  tell  her  tws  was  eomg. 


428  'QUEECHY. 

"You  are  looking  better,"  said  the  former,  as  gravely  as  ever, 
but  with  an  eye  of  serious  interest  that  made  the  words  something. 

"  I  am  better,"  said  Fleda  gratefully. 

"  So  much  better  that  she  is  in  a  hurry  to  make  herself  worse," 
said  her  cousin.  "  Mr.  Carleton,  you  are  a  professor  of  medicine, 
I  believe, — I  have  an  indistinct  impression  of  your  having  once 
prescribed  a  ride  on  horseback  for  somebody  ; — wouldn't  you 
recommend  some  measure  of  prudence  to  her  consideration  ?  " 
>  "In  general,"  Mr.  Carleton  answered  gravely  ;  "but  in  the  pres 
ent  case  I  could  not  venture  upon  any  special  prescription,  Capt 
.<ossitur." 

"  As  for  instance,  that  she  should  remain  in  New  York  till  she  is 
fit  to  leave  it? — By  the  way,  what  brought  you  here  again  in  such  a 
hurry,  Fleda?  I  haven't  heard  that  yet." 

The  question  was  rather  sudden.  Fleda  was  a  little  taken  by 
surprise  ;  her  face  showed  some  pain  and  confusion  both.  Mr. 
Carleton  prevented  her  answer,  she  could  not  tell  whether  with  de 
sign. 

"  What  imprudence  do  you  charge  your  cousin  with,  Capt.  Ros- 
situr  ?" 

"  Why  she  is  in  a  great  hurry  to  get  back  to  Queechy,  before  she 
is  able  to  go  anywhere — begging  me  to  find  an  escort  for  her.  It  is 
lucky  I  can't.  I  didn't  know  I  ever  should  be  glad  to  be  '  posted 
up  '  in  this  fashion,  but  I  am." 

"You  have  not  sought  very  far,  Capt.  Rossitur,"  said  the  voice 
of  Thorn  behind  him.  "  Here  is  one  that  will  be  very  happy  to 
attend  Miss  Fleda,  whenever  she  pleases." 

Fleda's  shocked  start  and  change  of  countenance  was  seen  by 
more  eyes  than  one  pair.  Thorn's  fell,  and  a  shade  crossed  his 
countenance  too,  for  an  instant,  that  Fleda's  vision  was  too  dazzled 
to  see.  Mr.  Carleton  moved  away. 

"Why  are  you  going  to  Queechy  ?  "  said  Charlton  astonished. 

His  friend  was  silent  a  moment,  perhaps  for  want  of  power  to 
speak.  Fleda  dared  not  look  at  him. 

"  It  is  not  impossible, — unless  this  lady  forbid  me.  I  am  not  2 
fixture." 

"  But  what  brought  you  here,  man,  to  offer  your  services? "  said 
3harlton  ; — "  most   ungallantly   leaving   so   many   pairs   of  brigh' 
yes  to  shine  upon  your  absence." 

"  Mr.  Thorn  will  not  find  himself  in  darkness  here,  Capt.  RQE 
jitur,"  said  Mrs.  Decatur. 

"  It's  my  opinion  he  ought,  ma'am,"  said  Charlton. 

"  It  is  my  opinion  every  man  ought,  who  makes  his  dependence 
on  gleams  of  sunshine,"  said  Mr.  Thorn  rather  cynically.  "  I  can 
not  say  I  was  thinking  of  brightness  before  or  behind  me." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  said  Charlton  ; — "  you  don't  look  as  if  you 
had  seen  any  in  a  good  while." 

"A  light  goes  out  every  now  and  then,"  said  Thorn,  "and  it 
takes  one's  eyes  some  time  to  get  accustomed  to  it.  What  a  singu 
lar  world  we  live  in,  Mrs.  Decatur  i  " 

"  That  is  so  new  an  idea,"  said  the  lady  laughing,  "  that  !  must 
wquest  an  explanation,'* 

"  Whtt  atw  ciqptfftaftet  ef  its  tinguUrity  hw  ya«r  wtottem  !$*4$  ?  " 


QUEECHY  428 

naid  his  friend.  "  I  thought  you  and  the  world  knew  each  other's 
faces  pretty  well  before." 

"  Then  you  have  not  heard  the  news?  " 

"  What  news  ?  " 

"  Hum — I  suppose  it  is  not  about  yet,"  said  Thorn  composedly, 
•  <  No — you  haven't  heard  it." 

"  But  what,  man  ?  "  said  Charlton, — "  let's  hear  your  news,  for  I 
must  be  off." 

««  Why — but  it  is  no  more  than  rumor  yet — but  it  is  said  that 
strange  things  are  coming  to  light  about  a  name  that  used  to  be  held 
n  very  high  respect." 

"  In  this  city  ?  " 

"  In  this  city  ? — yes — it  is  said  proceedings  are  afoot  against  one 
of  our  oldest  citizens,  on  charge  of  a  very  grave  offence." 

"  Who  ? — and  what  offence  ?  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Is  it  a  secret,  Mr.  Thorn  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Decatur. 

"  If  you  have  not  heard,  perhaps  it  is  as  well  not  to  mentiom 
names  too  soon  ; — if  it  comes  out  it  will  be  all  over  directly  ;  pos 
sibly  the  family  may  hush  it  up,  and  in  that  case  the  less  said  the 
better  ;  but  those  have  it  in  hand  that  will  not  let  it  slip  through 
their  fingers. 

Mrs.  Decatur  turned  away,  saying  "  how  shocking  such  things 
were;"  and  Thorn  with  a  smile  which  did  not  however  light  up 
his  face,  said, 

"  You  may  be  off,  Charlton,  with  no  concern  for  the  bright  eyes 
you  leave  behind  you — I  will  endeavor  to  atone  for  my  negligence 
elsewhere  by  my  mindfulness  of  them." 

"  Don't  excuse  you,"  said  Charlton  ; — but  his  eye  catching  at  the 
moment  another  attraction  opposite  in  the  form  of  man  or  women, 
instead  of  quitting  the  room  he  leisurely  crossed  it  to  speak  to  the 
new-comer  ;  and  Thorn  with  an  entire  change  of  look  and  manner 
pressed  forward  and  offered  his  arm  to  Fleda,  who  was  looking 
perfectly  white.  If  his  words  had  needed  any  commentary  it  was 
given  by  his  eye  as  it  met  hers  in  speaking  the  last  sentence  to 
Mrs.  Decatur.  No  one  was  near  whom  she  knew  and  Mr.  Thorn 
led  her  out  to  a  little  back  room  where  the  gentlemen  had  thrown 
off  their  cloaks,  where  the  air  was  fresher,  and  placing  her  on  a 
^eat  stood  waiting  before  her  till  she  could  speak  to  him. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  'Mr.  Thorn?  "  Fleda  looked  as  much  as 
Said,  when  she  could  meet  his  face. 

"I  may  rather  ask  you  what  you  mean,  Miss  Fleda,"  he  an« 
Swered  gravely. 

Fleda  drew  breath^painfully. 

"  I  mean  nothing,"  she  said  lowering  her  head  again, — "  I  have 
done  nothing — " 

"  Did  you  think  I  meant  nothing  when  I  agreed  to  do  all  you 
wished?" 

"  I  thought  you  said  you  would  do  it  freely,"  she  said,  with  a 
tone  of  voice  that  might  have  touched  anybody,  there  was  such  a 
sinking  of  heart  in  it. 

"  Didn't  you  understand  me?  " 

"  And  is  it  all  over  now  ?  "  said  Fleda  after  a 


430  QUEECHY. 

"'  Not  yet — but  it  soon  may  be.  A  weak  hand  may  stop  it  now, 
—it  will  soon  be  beyond  the  power  of  the  strongest." 

"  And  what  becomes  of  your  promise  that  it  should  no  more  be 
heard  of  ?  "  said  Fleda,  looking  up  at  him  with  a  colorless  face,  but 
eyes  that  put  the  question  forcibly  nevertheless. 

'  Is  any  promise  bound  to  stand  without  its  conditions  ?  " 
'  I  made  no  conditions,"  said  Fleda  quickly. 
'  Forgive    me, — but    did    you    not    permit    me  to   understand 
them?" 

•  No  ! — or  if  I  did  I  could  not  help  it." 
'  Did  you  say  that  you  wished  to  help  it?  "  said  he  gently. 
•I  must  say  so  now,  then,  Mr.  Thorn,"  said  Fleda,  withdrawinf 
the  hand  he  had  taken  ; — "  I  did  not  mean  or  wish  you  to  think  so, 
but  I  was  too  ill  to  speak — almost  to  know  what  I  did — It  was  not 
my  fault — " 

"  You  do  not  make  it  mine,  that  I  chose  such  a  time,  selfishly,  I 
grant,  to  draw  from  your  lips  the  words  that  are  more  to  me  than 
life?" 

"Cannot  you  be  generous  ?  "-—for  once,  she  was  very  near  say 
ing. 

"Where  you  are  concerned,  I  do  not  know  how." 

Fleda  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then  bowed  her  face  in  het 
hands. 

"  May  I  not  ask  that  question  of  you  ?  "  said  he,  bending  down 
and  endeavoring  to  remove  them; — "will  you  not  say — or  look — 
that  word  that  will  make  others  happy  beside  me?  " 

"  I  cannot,  sir." 

"  Not  for  their  sakes?  "  he  said  calmly. 

"  Can  you  ask  me  to  do  for  theirs  what  I  would  not  for  my 
own?"  I 

"  Yes — for  mine,"  he  said,  with  a  meaning  deliberateness. 

Fleda  was  silent,  with  a  face  of  white  determination. 

"  It  will  be  beyond  eluding,  as  beyond  recall,  the  second  time. 
I  may  seem  selfish — I  am  selfish — but  dear  Miss  Ringgan  you  do 
not  see  all, — you  who  make  me  so  can  make  me  anything  else  with 
a  touch  of  your  hand — it  is  selfishness  that  would  be  bound  to  your 
happiness,  if  you  did  but  entrust  it  to  me." 

Fleda  neither  spoke  nor  looked  at  him  and  rose  up  from  her 
thair. 

"  Is  this  your  generosity  ?"  he  said,  pointedly  though  gently. 

"That  is  not  the  question  now,  sir,"  said  Fleda,  who  was  trenv 
bling  painfully.  "  I  cannot  do  evil  that  good  may  come." 

"  But  evil?  "  said  he  detaining  her, — "  what  evil  do  I  ask  of  you? 
—to  remove  evil,  I  do." 

Fleda  clasped  her  hands,  but  answered  calmly, 

"I  cannot  make  any  pretences,  sir;- -I  cannot  promise  to  give 
what  is  not  in  my  power." 

"  In  whose  power  then  ?  "   said  he  quickly. 

A  feeling  of  indignation  came  to  Fleda's  aid,  and  she  turned 
away.  But  he  stopped  her  still. 

"Do  you  think  I  do  not  understand?"  he  said  wi.-'l  a  covert 
sneer  that  had  the  keenness  and  hardness,  and  the  brightness,  of 
stoel, 


QUEECHT.  431 

••/do  not,  sir,"  said  Fleda, 

"  Do  you  think  I  do  not  know  whom  you  came  here  to  meet?  " 

Fleda's  glance  of  reproach  was  a  most  innocent  one,  but  it  did 
not  check  him. 

"  Has  that  fellow  renewed  his  old  admiration  of  you?"  he  went 
on  in  the  same  tone. 

11  Do  not  make  me  desire  his  old  protection,"  said  Fleda,  her 
gentle  face  roused  to  a  flush  of  displeasure. 

"Protection!"  said  Charlton  coming  in, — "who  wants  protec 
tion?  here  it  is — protection  from  what?  my  old  friend  Lewis  ?  what 
the  deuce  does  this  lady  want  of  protection,  Mr.  Thorn?  " 

It  was  plain  enough  that  Fleda  wanted  it,  from  the  way  she  was 
drooping  upon  his  arm. 

"  You  may  ask  the  lady  herself,"  said  Thorn,  in  the  same  tone 
he  had  before  used ; — "  I  have  not  the  honor  to  be  her  spokes 
man/' 

"  She  don't  need  one,"  said  Charlton, — "  I  addressed  myself  to 
you — speak  for  yourself,  man." 

"I  am  not  sure  that  it  would  be  her  pleasure  I  should,"  said 
Thorn.  "  Shall  I  tell  this  gentleman,  Miss  Ringgan,  who  needs 
protection,  and  from  what  ? — ' 

Fleda  raised  her  head,  and  putting  her  hand  on  his  arm  looked  a 
concentration  of  entreaty — lips  were  sealed. 

"  Will  you  give  me,"  said  he  gently  taking  the  hand  in  his  own, 
"your  sign  manual  for  Capt.  Rossitur's  security?  It  is  not  too 
late. — Ask  it  of  her  sir  ! 

"  What  does  this  mean?  "  said  Charlton  looking  from  his  cousin 
to  his  friend. 

"  You  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  knowing,  sir,  just  so  soon  as  I 
find  it  convenient." 

"  I  will  have  a  few  words  with  you  on  this  subject,  my  fine 
fellow,"  said  Capt.  Rossitur,  as  the  other  was  preparing  to  leave 
the  room. 

"  You  had  better  speak  to  somebody  else,"  said  Thorn.  "  But  I 
am  ready." 

Charlton  muttered  an  imprecation  upon  his  absurdity,  and  turned 
his  attention  to  Fleda,  who  needed  it.  And  yet  desired  anything 
else.  For  a  moment  she  had  an  excuse  for  not  answering  his  ques 
tions  in  her  inability  ;  and  then  opportunely  Mrs.  Decatur  came 
in  to  look  after  her  ;  and  she  was  followed  by  her  daughter.  Fleda 
roused  all  her  powers  to  conceal  and  command  her  feelings  ;  rallied 
herself ;  said  she  had  been  a  little  weak  and  faint ;  drank  water, 
and  declared  herself  able  to  go  back  into  the  drawing-room.  To 
go  home  would  have  been  her  utmost  desire,  but  at  the  instant  her 
energies  were  all  bent  to  the  one  point  of  putting  back  thought  and 
keeping  off  suspicion.  And  in  the  first  hurry  and  bewilderment  of 
distress  the  dread  of  finding  herself  alone  with  Charlton  till  she  had 
had  time  to  collect  her  thoughts  would  of  itself  have  been  enough 
to  prevent  her  accepting  the  proposal. 

She  entered  the  drawing-room  again  on  Mrs.  Decatur's  arm,  and 
had  stood  a  few  minutes  talking  or  listening,  with  that  same  con 
centration  of  all  her  faculties  upon  the  effort  to  bear  up  outwardly, 
wten  Charlton  came  up  to  ask  if  he  should  leave  her.  Fleds 


432  QUEECHY. 

made  no  objection,  and  he  was  out  of  her  sight,  far  enough  to  be 
beyond  reach  or  recall,  when  it  suddenly  'struck  her  that  she  ought 
not  to  have  let  him  go  without  speaking  to  him, — \vithoutentreating 
him  to  see  her  in  the  morning  before  he  saw  Thorn.  The  sickness 
of  this  new  apprehension  was  too  much  for  poor  Fleda's  power  of 
keeping  up.  She  quietly  drew  her  arm  from  Mrs.  Decatur's.  say 
ing  that  she  would  sit  down  ;  and  sought  out  a  place  for  herself 
apart  from  the  rest  by  an  engraving  stand  ;  where  for  a  little  \vhi!e» 
not  to  seem  unoccupied,  she  turned  over  print  after  print  that  she 
did  not  see.  Even  that  effort  failed  at  last  ;  and  she  sat  gazing  a? 
one  of  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence's  bright-faced  children,  and  feeling  a* 
if  in  herself  the  tides  of  life  were  setting  back  upon  their  fountain 
preparatory  to  being  still  forever.  She  became  sensible  that  some 
one  was  standing  beside  the  engravings,  and  looked  up  at  Mr. 
Carleton. 

"  Are  you  ill?  "  he  said,  very  gently  and  tenderly. 

The  answer  was  a  quick  motion  of  Fleda's  hand  to  her  head, 
speaking  sudden  pain,  and  perhaps  sudden  difficulty  of  self-com 
mand.  She  did  not  speak. 

"  Will  you  have  anything  ?  " 

A  whimper  "  no." 

"  Would  you  like  to  return  to  Mrs.  Evelyn's? — I  have  a  carriage 
here." 

With  a  look  of  relief  that  seemed  to  welcome  him  as  her  good 
angel,  Fleda  instantly  rose  up,  and  took  the  arm  he  .offered  her.  She 
would  have  hastened  from  the  room  then,  but  he  gently  checked 
her  pace  ;  and  Fleda  was  immediately  grateful  for  the  quiet  and 
perfect  shielding  from  observation  that  his  manner  secured  her. 
He  went  with  her  up  the  stairs,  and  to  the  very  door  of  the  dressing- 
room.  There  Fleda  hurried  on  her  shoes  and  mufflers  in  trembling 
fear  that  some  one  might  come  and  find  her  ;  gained  Mr.  Carleton's 
arm  again,  and  was  placed  in  the  carnage. 

The  drive  was  in  perfect  silence,  and  Fleda's  agony  deepened  and 
strengthened  with  every  minute.  She  had  freedom  to  think,  and 
thought  did  but  carry  a  torch  into  chamber  after  chamber  of  misery. 
There  seemed  nothing  to  be  done.  She  could  not  get  hold  of 
Charlton  ;  and  if  she  could  ? — Nothing  could  be  less  amenable  thai? 
his  passions  to  her  gentle  restraints.  Mr.  Thorn  was  still  less  ap 
proachable  or  manageable,  except  in  one  way,  that  she  did  not  ever 
Ihink  of.  His  insinuations  about  Mr.  Carleton  did  not  leave  even 
a  tinge  of  embarrassment  upon  her  mind  ;  they  were  cast  from  her 
as  insulting  absurdities,  which  she  could  not  think  of  a  second  time 
without  shame. 

The  carriage  rolled  on  with  them  a  long  tine  without  a  word  be 
ing  said.  Mr.  Carleton  knew  that  she  was  not  weeping  nor  faint. 
But  as  the  light  of  the  lamps  was  now  and  then  cast  within  the  car 
riage  he  saw  that  her  face  loqked  ghastly  ;  and  he  saw  too  that  its 
expression  was  not  of  a  quiet  sinking  under  sorrow,  nor  of  an  en« 
deavor  to  bear  up  against  it,  but  a  wild  searching  gaze  into  the  dark- 
ness  of  possibilities.  They  had  near  reached  Mrs.  Evelyn's. 

"  I  cannot  see  you  so,"  he  said,  gently  touching  the  hand  vvhicfe 
lay  listlessly  beside  him.  M  You  are  111 !  " 


QUEECHY.  433 

Again  the  same  motion  of  the  other  hand  to  her  face,  the  quick 
token  of  great  pain  suddenly  stirred. 

"  For  the  sake  of  old  times,  let  me  ask,"  said  he,  "  can  nothing 
be  done?" 

Those  very  gentle  and  delicate  tones  of  sympathy  and  kindness 
were  too  much  to  bear.  The  hand  was  snatched  away  to  be  pressed 
to  her  face.  Oh  that  those  old  times  were  back  again,  and  she  a 
child  that  could  ask  his  protection  ! — No  one  to  give  it  now. 

He  was  silent  a  moment.  Fleda's  head  bowed  beneath  the  mental 
pressure. 

"  Has  Dr.  Gregory  returned?" 

The  negative  answer  was  followed  by  a  half-uttered  exclamatiot 
ijf  longing, — checked  midway,  but  sufficiently  expressive  of  he* 
want. 

"  Do  you  trust  me  ?  "  he  said  after  another  second  of  pausing. 

"  Perfectly  !  "  said  Fleda  amidst  her  tears,  too  much  excited  to 
Know  what  she  saying,  and  in  her  simplicity  half  forgetting  that 
she  was  not  a  child  still  ; — "  more  than  any  one  in  the  world  !  " 

The  few  words  he  had  spoken,  and  the  manner  of  them,  had 
curiously  borne  her  back  years  in  a  minute  ;  she  seemed  to  be  un 
der  his  care  more  than  for  the  drive  home.  He  did  not  speak  again 
for  a  minute  ;  when  he  did  his  tone  was  very  quiet  and  lower  than 
before. 

"  Give  me  what  a  friend  can  have  in  charge  to  do  for  you,  and  it 
shall  be  done." 

Fleda  raised  ner  head  and  looked  out  of  the  window  in  a  silence 
of  doubt. j  The  carriage  stopped  at  Mrs.  Evelyn's. 

"  Not  now,"  SMd  Mr.  Carleton,  as  the  servant  was  about  to  open 
the  door  ; — "  driv^  round  the  square — till  I  speak  to  you." 

Fleda  was  motionless  and  almost  breathless  with  uncertainty.  If 
Charlton  could  be.  hindered  from  meeting  Mr.  Thorn — But  how 
could  Mr.  Carleton  effect  it  ? — But  there  was  that  in  him  or  in  his 
manner  which  invariably  created  confidence  in  his  ability,  or  fear 
of  it,  even  in  strangers  ;  and  how  much  more  in  her  who  had  a 
childish  but  very  clear  recollection  of  several  points  in  his  charac 
ter  which  confirmed  the  feeling.  And  might  not  something  be 
done,  through  his  means,  to  facilitate  her  uncle's  escape  ?  of  whom 
she  seemed  to  herself  now  the  betrayer.— But  to  tell  him  the  story  f 
<— a  person  ot'  his  high  nice  notions  of  character — what  a  distance  i' 
rould  put  even  between  his  friendship  and  her, — but  that  thought 
?/as  banished  instantly,  with  one  glance  at  Mr.  Thorn's  imputation 
«>f  ungenerousi<ess.  To  sacrifice  herself  to  him  would  not  have 
been  ganerosity,— to  lower  herself  in  the  esteem  of  a  different  char 
acter,  she  felt,  called  for  it.  There  was  time  even  then  too  for  one 
swift  thought  of  the  needlessness  and  bitter  fruits  of  wrong  doing. 
But  here  they  were  ;— should  she  make  them  known  ?— and  trouble 
Mr.  Carleton,  friend  though  he  were,  with  these  miserable  matters 
in  which  he  had  no  concern  ? — She  sat  with  a  beating  heart  and  a 
very  troubled  brow,  but  a  brow  as  easy  to  read  as  a  child's.  It  was 
the  trouble  of  anxious  questioning.  Mr.  Carleton  watched  it  for  a 
little  while, — undecided  as  ever,  and  more  pained. 

"You  said  you  trusted  me,"  he  said  quietly,  taking  her  hand 
fgain. 


484  QUEECHY. 

11  But — I  don't  know  what  you  could  do,  Mr.  Carleton»"  Fie  da 
said  with  a  trembling  voice. 

"  Will  you  let  me  be  the  judge  of  that?  " 

"  I  cannot  bear  to  trouble  you  with  these  miserable  things — " 

"  You  cannot,"  said  he  with  that  same  quiet  tone,  "  but  by  think 
ing  and  saying  so.  I  can  have  no  greater  pleasure  than  to  take 
pains  for  you." 

Fleda  heard  these  words  precisely  and  with  the  same  simplicity 
as  a  child  would  have  heard  them,  and  answered  with  a  very  frank 
burst  of  tears, — soon,  as  soon  as  possible,  according  to  her  customt 
driven  back  ;  though  even  in  the  act  of  quieting  herself  they  broke 
forth  again  as  uncontrollably  as  at  first.  But  Mr.  Carleton  had  not 
long  to  wait.  She  raised  her  head  again  after  a  short  struggle,  with 
the  wonted  look  of  patience  sitting  upon  her  brow,  and  wiping  away 
her  tears  paused  merely  for  breath  and  voice.  He  was  perfectly 
silent. 

"Mr.  Carleton,  I  will  tell  you,"  she  began  ; — "  I  hardly  know 
whether  I  ought  or  ought  not, — "  and  her  hand  went  to  her  fore 
head  for  a  moment, — "  but  I  cannot  think  to-night — and  I  have  not 
a  friend  to  apply  to — " 

She  hesitated  ;  and  then  went  on,  with  a  voice  that  trembled  and 
quavered  sadly. 

"Mr.  Thorn  has  a  secret — of  my  uncle's — in  his  power — which 
he  promised — without  conditions — to  keep  faithfully  ;  and  now  in 
sists  that  he  will  not — but  upon  conditions — " 

"  And  cannot  the  conditions  be  met  ?  " 

««  No — and — O  I  may  as  well  tell  you  at  once!  "  said  Fleda  in 
bitter  sorrow, — "  it  is  a  crime  that  he  committed — " 

"Mr.  Thorn?" 

•  •  No — oh  no  !  "  said  Fleda  weeping  bitterly, — "  not  he — " 

Her  agitation  was  excessive  for  a  moment ;  then  she  threw  it  off, 
and  spoke  more  collectedly,  though  with  exceeding  depression  of 
manner. 

"  It  was  long  ago — when  he  was  in  trouble — he  put  Mr.  Thorn's 
name  to  a  note,  and  never  was  able  to  take  it  up  ; — and  nothing  was 
ever  heard  about  it  till  lately  ;  and  last  week  he  was  going  to  leave 
the  country,  and  Mr.  Thorn  promised  that  the  proceedings  should 
be  entirely  given  up  ;  and  that  was  why  I  came  to  town,  to  find 
uncle  Rolf  and  bring  him  home  ;  and  I  did,  and  he  is  gone  ;  and 
aow  Mr.  Thorn  says  it  is  all  going  on  again  and  that  he  will  not 
escape  this  time  ; — and  I  have  done  it ! — " 

Fleda  writhed  again  in  distress. 

J'  Thorn  promised  without  conditions?'* 

:i  Certainly — he  promised  freely — and  now  he  insists  upon  them  ; 
and  you  see  uncle  Rolf  would  have  been  safe  out  of  the  country 
now,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me — " 

"  I  think  I  can  undo  this  snarl,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  calmly. 

"But  that  is  not  all,"  said  Fleda,  a  little  quieted  ;—"  Charl- 
ton  came  in  this  evening  when  we  were  talking,  and  he  was  sur 
prised  to  find  me  so,  and  Mr.  Thorn  was  in  a  very  ill  humor,  and 
some  words  passed  between  them  ;  and  Charlton  threatened  to  see 
him  again;  and  Oh  if  he  does!  "  said  poor  Fleda,—"  that  wUi 


436 

finish  our  difficulties  ! — tor  Charlton  is  very  hot,  and  I  know  how  it 
will  end — how  it  must  end — " 

"  Where  is  your  cousin  to  be  found  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  where  he  lodges  when  he  is  in  town." 

"  You  did  not  leave  him  at  Mrs.  Decatur's.  Do  you  know  where 
he  is  this  evening  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  "said  Fleda,  wondering  that  she  should  have  heard  and 
remembered, — "he  said  he  was  going  to  meet  a  party  of  his 
brother  officers  at  Mme.  Fouche's — a  sister-in-law  of  his  Colonel;  ) 
sbelieve." 

"  I  know  her.  This  note— was  it  the  name  of  the  young  Mr 
Thorn,  or  of  his  father  that  was  used  ? " 

"  Of  his  father  !—" 

"  Has  he  appeared  at  all  in  this  business  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Fleda,  feeling  for  the  first  time  that  there  was  some 
thing  notable  about  it. 

"  What  sort  of  person  do  you  take  him  to  be  ?" 

"  Very  kind — very  pleasant,  always,  he  has  been  to  me,  and  1 
should  think  to  everybody  ; — very  unlike  the  son." 

Mr.  Carleton  had  ordered  the  coachman  back  to  Mrs.  Evelyn's. 

"  Do  you  know  the  amount  of  the  note?  It  may  be  desirable 
that  I  should  not  appear  uninformed." 

14  It  was  for  four  thousand  dollars,"  Fleda  said,  in  the  low  voice 
of  shame. 

"  And  when  given  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  exactly — but  six  years  ago — some  time  in  the 
winter  of  '43,  it  must  have  been." 

He  said  no  more  till  the  carriage  stopped  ;  and  then  before  hand 
ing  her  out  of  it,  lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips.  That  carried  all  the 
promise  Fleda  wanted,  from  him.  How  oddly,  how  curiously,  her 
hand  kept  the  feeling  of  that  kiss  upon  it  all  night. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

Heat  not  a.  furnace  for  your  friend  so  hot 
That  it  may  singe  yourself. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

MR  CARLETON  went  to  Mme.  Fouche's,  who  received  most 
graciously,  as  any  lady  would,  his  apology  for  introducing  himseK 
anlooked-for,  and  begged  that  he  would  commit  the  same  fault 
often.  As  soon  as  practicable  he  made  his  way  to  Charlton,  and 
invited  him  to  breakfast  with  him  the  next  morning. 

Mrs.  Carleton  always  said  it  never  was  known  that  Guy  was  re 
fused  anything  he  had  a  mind  to  ask.  Charlton,  though  taken  by 
surprise,  and  certainly  not  too  much  prepossessed  in  his  favor,  was 
won  by  an  influence  that  where  its  owner  chose  to  exert  it  was  gen 
erally  found  irresistible  ;  and  not  only  accepted  the  invitation,  but 
was  conscious  to  himself  of  doing  it  with  a  good  deal  of  pleasure. 
Even  when  IvTr.  Carleton  made  the  further  request  that  Capt.  Ros- 
situr  would  in  the  meantime  see  no  one  on  business,  of  any  kind, 
intimating  that  the  reason  would  then  be  given,  Charlton  though 
a  ttttie  at  this  restraint  upon  his  freedom  of  motion  could 


436  qUEECHY. 

do  no  other  than  give  the  desired  promise,  and  with  the  utmost 
readiness.  Guy  then  went  to  Mr.  Thorn's.  It  was  by  this  time  not 
early. 

"  Mr.  Lewis  Thorn — is  he  at  home  ?  " 

"He  is,  sir,"  said  the  servant  admitting  him  rather  hesitat 
ingly. 

"  I  wish  to  see  him  a  few  moments  on  business." 

"It  is  no  hour  for  business,"  said  the  voice  of  Mr.  Lewis  from 
over  the  balusters  ; — "  I  can't  see  anybody  to-night." 

"  I  ask  but  a  few  minutes,"  said  Mr.  Carleton.  "  It  is  im* 
portant." 

"  It  may  be  anything  !  "  said  Thorn.  "  I  won't  do  business  after 
twelve  o'clock." 

Mr.  Carleton  desired  the  servant  to  carry  his  card,  with  the  same 
request,  to  Mr.  Thorn  the  elder. 

"What's  that?"  said  Thorn  as  the  man  came  up-stairs, — "my 
father? — Pshaw!  he  can't  attend  to  it — Well,  walk  up  sir,  if  you 
please  ! — may  as  well  have  it  over  and  done  with  it." 

Mr.  Carleton  mounted  the  stairs  and  followed  the  young  gentle 
man  into  an  apartment  to  which  he  rapidly  led  the  way. 

"  You've  no  objection  to  this,  I  suppose  ?  "  Thorn  remarked  as  he 
locked  the  door  behind  them. 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  coolly,  taking  out  the  key  and 
putting  it  in  his  pocket; — "my  business  is  private — it  needs  no 
witnesses." 

"  Especially  as  it  so  nearly  concerns  yourself,"  said  Thorn  sneer- 
ingly. 

"Which  part  of  it,  sir?  "said  Mr.  Carleton  with  admirable 
breeding.  It  vexed  at  the  same  time  that  it  constrained  Thorn. 

"  I'll  let  you  know  presently  !  "  he  said,  hurriedly  proceeding  to 
the  lower  end  of  the  room  where  some  cabinets  stood,  and  unlock 
ing  door  after  door  in  mad  haste. 

The  place  had  somewhat  the  air  of  a  study,  perhaps  Thorn's 
private  room.  A  long  table  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  with 
materials  for  writing,  and  a  good  many  books  were  about  the  room, 
in  cases  and  on  the  tables,  with  maps  and  engravings  and  port* 
folios  and  a  nameless  collection  of  articles,  the  miscellaneous  gath 
ering  of  a  man  of  leisure  and  some  literary  taste.  , 

Their  owner  presently  came  back  from  the  cabinets  with  tokens 
}f  a  very  different  kind  about  him. 

"There  sir!  "  he  said,  offering  to  his  guest  a  brace  of  most  in 
hospitable-looking  pistols, — "  take  one,  and  take  your  stand,  as  soon 
as  you  please — nothing  like  coming  to  the  point  at  once  !  " 

He  was  heated  and  excited  even  more  than  his  manner  indi 
cated.  Mr.  Carleton  glanced  at  him  and  stood  quietly  examining 
the  pistol  he  had  taken.  It  was  all  ready  loaded. 

"  This  is  a  business  that  comes  upon  me  by  surprise,"  he  said 
calmly, — "  I  don't  know  what  I  have  to  do  with  this,  Mr.  Thorn." 

"  Well  I  do,"  said  Thorn,  "  and  that's  enough.  Take  your 
place,  sir!  You  escaped  me  once,  but  " — and  he  gave  his  words 
dreadful  emph~sis,  — "  yon  won't  do  it  the  second  time  !  " 

You  do  not  mean,"  said  the  other,  "  that  your  recollection  of 
*n  offence  h»s  lived  out  so  many  year*?-' 


QUEECHY.  431) 

••No  sir  !  no  sir !  "  said  Thorn, — ••  it  is  not  that.  I  despise  it,  as 
I  do  the  offender.  You  have  touched  me  more  nearly." 

"  Let  me  know  in  what,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  turning  his  pistol's 
mouth  down  upon  the  table  and  leaning  on  it. 

"You  know  already, — what  do  you  ask  me  for?"  said  Thorn 
who  was  foaming; — "if  you  say  you  don't  you  lie  heartily.  I'll 
Jell  you  nothing  but  out  of  this — ' 

•'  I  have  not  knowingly  injured  you,  sir, — in  a  whit." 

"Then  a  Carleton  may  be  a  liar,"  said  Thorn,  "  and  you  are  one 
-I  dare  say  not  the  first.     Put  yourself  there,  sir,  will  you?1 

"Well,"  said  Guy  carelessly, — "if  it  is  decreed  that  I  am  to 
tight  of  course  there's  no  help  for  it  ;  but  as  I  have  business  on 
hand  that  might  not  be  so  well  done  afterward  I  must  beg  your 
attention  to  that  in  the  first  place." 

•'  No.  sir,"  said  Thorn, — "  I'll  attend  to  nothing — I'll  hear  noth 
ing  from  you.  I  know  you  ! — I'll  not  hear  a  word.  I'll  see  to  the 
business  ! — Take  your  stand." 

"  I  will  not  have  anything  to  do  with  pistols,"  said  Mr.  Carleton 
coolly,  laying  his  out  of  his  hand  ; — they  make  too  much  noise." 

"  Who  cares  for  the  noise?  "  said  Thorn.  "  It  won't  hurt  you  ; 
and  the  door  is  locked." 

"  But  people's  ears  are  not,"  said  Guy. 

Neither  tone  nor  attitude  nor  look  had  changed  in  the  least  its 
calm  gracefulness.  It  began  to  act  upon  Thorn. 

"  Well  in  the  devil's  name,  have  your  own  way,"  said  he,  throw 
ing  down  his  pistol,  and  going  back  to  the  cabinets  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  room, — ••  There  are  rapiers  here,  if  you  like  them  better 
— /  don't, — the  shortest  the  best  for  me, — but  here  they  are — take 
your  choice." 

Guy  examined  them  carefully  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  laid 
them  both,  with  a  firm  hand  upon  them,  on  the  table. 

•'  I  will  choose  neither,  Mr.  Thorn,  till  you  have  heard  me.  I 
came  here  tos^ee  you  on  the  part  of  others — I  slicjld  be  to.  recreant 
to  my  charge  if  I  allowed  you  or  myself  to  draw  me  into  anything 
that  might  prevent  my  fulfilling  it.  That  must  be  done  first." 

Thorn  looked  with  a  lowering  brow  on  the  indication  of  his  oppo 
nent's  eye  and  attitude;  they  left  him  plain.' y  but  one  course  to  take, 

••  Well  speak  and  have  done,"  he  said  as  in  spite  of  himself :— ' 

bat  I  know  it  already." 

••  I  am  here  as  a  friend  of  Mr.  Rossitur." 

"  Why  don't  you  say  a  friend  of  somebody  else,  and  c^<j>e  nearer 
tke  truth?"  said  Thorn. 

There  was  an  intensity  of  expression  in  his  sneer,  but  pain  was 
there  as  well  as  anger  ;  and  it  was  with  even  a  feeling  of  pity  that 
Mr.  Carleton  answered, 

"  The  truth  will  be  best  reached,  sir,  if  I  am  allowed  to  choose  my 
own  words." 

There   was  no  haughtiness  in  the  steady  gravity  of  this  speech, 

natever  there  was  in  the   quiet   silence   he   permitted  to  follow, 
n  did  not  break  it. 

"     am  informed  of  the  particulars  concerning  this  prosecution  ot 
l«i  come  here  to  know  if  no  tf  rma  can  b$  ab* 


438 

•" No?"  said  Thorn, — "  no  terms — I  won't  speak  of  terms.  Thf 
natter  will  be  followed  up  now  till  the  fellow  is  lodged  in  jail,  where 
/ie  deserves  to  be." 

"  Are  you  aware,  sir,  that  this,  if  done,  will  be  the  cause  of  very 
great  distress  to  a  family  who  have  not  deserved  it  ?  " 

"That  can't  be  helped,"  said  Thorn.  "  Of  course ! — It  must 
cause  distress,  but  you  can't  act  upon  that.  Of  course  when  a  man 
turns  rogue  he  ruins  his  family — that's  part  of  his  punishment — and 
a  just  one." 

"The  law  is  just,"  said  Mr.  Carleton, — "but  a  friend  may  b* 
merciful." 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  be  a  friend,"  said  Thorn  viciously, — ''-  and  1 
have  no  cause  to  be  merciful.  I  like  to  bring  a  man  to  public  shame 
when  he  has  forfeited  his  title  to  anything  else  ;  and  I  intend  that 
Mr.  Rossitur  shall  become  intimately  acquainted  with  the  interior  of 
the  State's  Prison." 

"  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  public  shame  w?>^/fall  uponothet 
than  Mr.  Rossitur?  and  without  the  State  Prison?" 

Thorn  fixed  a  somewhat  startled  look  upon  the  steady  powerful 
eye  of  his  opponent,  and  did  not  like  its  meaning. 

"  You  must  explain  yourself,  sir,"  he  said  haughtily. 

"  I  am  acquainted  with  «//the  particulars  of  this  proceeding,  Mr. 
Thorn.  If  it  goes  abroad,  so  surely  will  they." 

"  She  told  you,  did  she  !  "  said  Thorn  in  a  sudden  flash  of  fury. 

Mr.  Carleton  was  silent,  with  his  air  of  imperturbable  reserve,  tell 
ing  and  expressing  nothing  but  a  cool  independence  that  put  the 
world  at  a  distance. 

"  Ha !  "  said  Thorn, — "  it  is  easy  to  see  why  our  brave  English 
man  comes  here  to  solicit  '  terms  '  for  his  honest  friend  Rossitur — 
he  would  not  like  the  scandal  of  franking  letters  to  Sing  Sing.  Come 
sir  !  "  he  said  snatching  up  the  pistol, — "  our  business  is  ended— 
come,  I  say  !  or  I  won't  wait  for  you." 

But  the  pistol  was  struck  from  his  hand. 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  calmly, — "  you  shall  have  yourtum 
at  these, — mind,  I  promise  you  ; — but  my  business  must  be  done  first 
— till  then,  let  them  alone  !  " 

"  Well  what  is  it  ?  "  said  Thorn  impatiently.  "  Rossitur  will  be  a 
convict,  I  tell  you  ;  so  you'll  have  to  give  up  all  thoughts  of  his 
niece,  or  pocket  her  shame  along  with  her.  What  more  have  yo* 
&x>t  to  say  ?  that's  all  your  business,  I  take  it." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Mr.  Thorn,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  gravelye 

"  Am  I?     In  what?" 

••In  every  position  of  your  last  speech." 

"  It  don't  affect  your  plans  and  views,  I  suppose,  personally, 
whether  this  prosecution  is  continued  or  not  ?  " 

"  It  does  not  in  the  least." 

"  It  is  indifferent  to  you,  I  suppose,  what  sort  of  a  Queen  consort 
you  carry  to  your  little  throne  of  a  provinciality  down  yonder?" 

"  I  will  reply  to  you,  sir,  when  you  come  back  to  the  subject," 
Said  Mr.  Carleton  coldly. 

"  You  mean  to  say  that  your  pretensions  have  not  been  is  the 
way  of  mine  ?  " 

••  I  have  made  none  sir.*' 


438 

'•Doesn't  she  like  you  !  " 

"  I  have  never  asked  her." 

"Then  what  possessed    her  to  tell  you  all  this  to-night  ?  " 

"  Simply  because  I  was  an  oid  friend  and  the  only  one  at  hand, 
I  presume."  v 

"  And  do  you  not  look  for  any  reward  of  your  services,  of 
course  \ 

"  I  wish  for  none,  sir,  but  her  relief.'' 

!t  Well,  it  don't  signify,"  said  Thorn  with  a  mixture  of  expressions 
a  his  face, — "  if  I  believed  you,  which  I  don't, — it  don't  signify  3 
.iair  what  you  do,  when  once  this  matter  is  known.  I  should  nevei 
think  of  advancing  my  pretensions  into  a  felon's  family." 

"  You  know  that  the  lady  in  whose  welfare  you  take  so  much 
interest  will  in  that  case  suffer  aggravated  distress  as  having  been 
the  means  of  hindering  Mr.  Rossitur's  escape." 

"Can't  help  it,"  said  Thorn,  beating  the  table  with  a  ruler;-- 
"so  she  has  ;  she  must  suffer  for  it.  It  isn't  my  fault." 

"  You  are  willing  then  to  abide  the  consequences  of  a  full  dis 
closure  of  all  the  circumstances? — for  part  will  not  come  out  with 
out  the  whole." 

"There  is  happily  no  body  to  tell  them,"  said  Thorn  with  a 
sneer. 

"  Pardon  me — they  will  not  only  be  told  but  known  thoroughly 
in  all  the  circles  in  this  country  that  know  Mr.  Thorn's  name." 

"  The  lady''  said  Thorn  in  the  same  tone,  "would  hardly  rel 
ish  such  a  publication  of  her  name — her  welfare  would  be  scantily 
advantaged  by  it." 

"  I  will  take  the  risk  of  that  upon  myself,"  said  Mr.  Carleton 
quietly  ;  "and  the  charge  of  the  other." 

"  You  dare  not !  "  said  Thorn.  "  You  shall  not  go  alive  out  of 
this  room  to  do  it !  Let  me  have  it,  sir  !  you  said  you  would — " 

His  passion  was  at  a  fearful  height,  for  the  family  pride  which  had 
been  appealed  to  felt  a  touch  of  fear,  and  his  other  thoughts  were 
confirmed  again,  besides  the  dim  vision  of  a  possible  thwarting 
of  all  his  plans.  Desire  almost  concentred  itself  upon  revenge 
against  the  object  that  threatened  them.  He  had  thrown  himself 
again  toward  the  weapons  which  lay  beyond  his  reach,  but  was 
met  and  forcibly  withheld  from  them. 

"Stand  back!  "  said  Mr.  Carleton.  "  I  said  I  would,  but  I  air 
not  ready  ; — finish  this  business  first." 

"What  is  there  to  finish?"  said  Thorn  furiously; — "you  will 
never  live  to  do  anything  out  of  these  doors  again — you  are  mocking 
yourself." 

"  My  life  is  not  in  your  hands,  sir,  and  I  will  settle  this  mat 
ter  before  I  put  it  in  peril.  If  not  with  you,  with  Mr.  Thorn 
your  father,  to  whom  it  more  properly  belongs." 

"You  cannot  leave  the  room  to  see  him,"  said  Thorn  sneer- 
ingly. 

"That  is  at  my  pleasure,"  said  the  other, — "unless  hindered  by 
means  I  do  not  think  you  will  use." 

Thorn  was  silent. 

"Will  you  yield  anything  of  justice,  once  more,  in  favor  of  this 
distressed  family  '" 


440  QUEECHY. 

"  That  is,  yield  the  whole,  and  let  the  guilty  go  free." 

"  When  the  punishment  of  the  offender  would  involve  that  ojf 
$o  many  unoffending,  who  in  this  case  would  feel  it  with  peculial 
severity." 

"  He  deserves  it,  if  it  was  only  for  the  money  he  has  kept  me 
nut  of — he  ought  to  be  made  to  refund  what  he  has  stolen,  if  it 
look  the  skin  off  his  back  !  " 

That  part   of  his  obligation,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  "I  am  au« 
to  discharge    on  the  condition  of  having  the  note  given 
»p.      I  have  a  check   with  me    which  I  am  commissioned  to  ft? 
dp,  fron>  one  of  the  best   names  here.      I  need  only  the  date  o 
ehe  note,  which  the  giver  of  the  check  did  not  know." 

Thorn  hesitated,  again  tapping  the  table  with  the  ruler  in  a 
troubled  MI  \nner.  He^new  by  the  calm  erect  figure  before  him 
and  the  steaiy  eye  he  did  not  care  to  meet  that  the  threat  of  dis 
closure  wou.\i  be  kept.  He  was  not  prepared  to  brave  it, — in 
case  his  rcvei  ge  should  fail  ; — and  if  it  did  not 

"  It  is  deucyj^  folly,"  he  said  at  length  with  a  half  laugh, — "  fof 
I  shall  have  it  back  again  in  five  minutes,  if  my  eye  don't  play  me 
a  trick, — however,  if  you  will  have  it  so — I  don't  care.  There  are 
chances  in  all  th'vigs — " 

He  went  again  to  the  cabinets,  and  presently  brought  the  en 
dorsed  note.  Mr.  Carleton  gave  it  a  cool  and  careful  examination, 
to  satisfy  himself  of  its  being  the  true  one  ;  and  then  delivered  him 
the  check  ;  the  blai-k  duly  filled  up. 

"  There  are  chances  in  nothing,  sir,"  he  said,  as  he  proceeded  to 
burn  the  note  effectually  in  the  candle. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  then;  is  a  Supreme  Disposer  of  all  things,  who 
among  the  rest  has  ouj  lives  in  his  hand.  And  now,  sir,  I  will  give 
you  that  chance  at  my  ife  for  which  you  have  been  so  eagerly  wish 
ing." 

"Well  take  your  jlace,"  said  Thorn  seizing  his  pistol,— * 
"  and  take  your  arms— put  yourself  at  the  end  of  the  table 

"  I  shall  stand  here,'*  said  Mr.  Carleton,  quietly  folding  his  arms  ; 
ta-"you  make  take  your  place  where  you  please." 

"  But  you  are  not  armc,d  !  "  said  Thorn  impatiently, — "  why  don'f 
Jrou  get  ready  ?  what  are  yo;i  waiting  for  ?  " 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  arms,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  smiling  ;~ 
•«  I  have  no  wish  to  hurt  you,  Mr.  Thorn  ;  I  bear  you  no  ill-will 
But  you  may  do  what  you  please  with  me." 

"  But  you  promised  !  "  said  Thorn  in  desperation. 

"  I  abide  by  my  promise,  sir." 

Thorn's  pistol  hand  fell ;  he  looked  dreadfully.  There  was  j 
•ilence  of  several  minutes. 

"  Well?" — said  Mr.  Carleton  looking  up  and  smiling. 

"I  can  do  nothing  unices  you  will,"  said  Thorn  hoarsely,  and 
looking  hurriedly  away. 

"  I  am  at  your  pleasvr?  :;:  '  But  on  my  own  part  I  have  nonf 
to  gratify." 

Thert  was  silence  r  g  which  Thorn's  face  was  pitiabfe 

ia  its  dnrk':»5:  fr 


441 

"I  did  not  come  here  in  enmity,  Mr.  Thorn,"  said  Guy  after  a 
little  approaching  him  ; — "  I  have  none  now.  If  you  believe  me 
you  will  throw  away  the  remains  of  yours  and  take  my  hand  in 
pledge  of  it." 

Thorn  was  ashamed  and  confounded,  in  the  midst  of  passions 
that  made  him  at  the  moment  a  mere  wreck  of  himself.  He  in 
wardly  drew  back  exceedingly  from  the  proposal.  But  the  grace 
with  which  the  words  were  said  wrought  upon  all  the  gentlemanly 
character  that  belonged  to  him,  and  made  it  impossible  not  to 
Comply.  The  pistol  was  exchanged  for  Mr.  Carleton's  hand. 

"  I  need  not  assure  you,"  said  the  latter,  "  that  nothing  of  what 
/ve  have  talked  of  to-night  shall  ever  be  known  or  suspected,  in  any 
quarter,  unless  by  your  means." 

Thorn's  answer  was  merely  a  bow,  and  Mr.  Carleton  withdre^, 
his  quondam  antagonist  lighting  him  ceremoniously  to  the  door. 

It  was  easy  for  Mr.  Carleton  the  next  morning  to  deal  with  his 
guest  at  the  breakfast-table. 

The  appointments  of  the  service  were  such  as  of  themselves  to 
put  Charlton  in  a  good  humor,  if  he  had  not  come  already  provided 
with  that  happy  qualification  ;  and  the  powers  of  manner  and  con 
versation  which  his  entertainer  brought  into  play  not  only  put  them 
into  the  background  of  Capt.  Rossitur's  perceptions  but  even  made 
him  merge  certain  other  things  in  fascination,  and  lose  all  thought 
of  what  probably  had  called  him  there.  Once  before,  he  had  known 
Mr.  Carleton  come  out  in  a  like  manner,  but  this  time  he  forgot  to 
be  surprised. 

The  meal  was  two-thirds  over  before  the  business  that  had  drawn 
them  together  was  alluded  to. 

"  I  made  an  odd  request  of  you  last  night,  Capt.  Rossitur,"  said 
his  host  ; — "  you  haven't  asked  for  an  explanation." 

"  I  had  forgotten  all  about  it,"  said  Rossitur  candidly.  "  I  am 
inconsequent  enough  myself  not  to  think  everything  odd  that  re 
quires  an  explanation." 

"  Then  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me  if  mine  seem  to  touch  upon 
what  is  not  my  concern.  You  had  some  cause  to  be  displeased 
with  Mr.  Thorn's  behavior  last  night  ?  " 

Who  told  you  as  much  ? — was  in  Rossitur's  open  eyes,  and  upon 
his  tongue  ;  but  few  ever  ask  naughty  questions  of  Mr.  Carleton. 
Charlton's  eyes  came  back,  not  indeed  to  their  former  dimensions, 
:»ut  to  his  plate,  in  silence. 

"He  was  incomprehensible,"  he  said  after  a  minute, —  'c  and 
didn't  act  like  himself — I  don't  know  what  was  the  matter.  I  shall 
Call  him  to  account  for  it." 

"  Capt.  Rossitur,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  favor." 

"  I  will  grant  it  with  the  greatest  pleasure,"  said  Charlton, — "if 
it  lie  within  my  power." 

"A  wise  man's  addition,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,—  "  but  I  trust  you 
will  not  think  me  extravagant.  I  will  hold  myself  much  obliged  to 
you  if  you  will  let  Mr.  Thorn's  folly,  or  impertinence,  go  this  time 
without  notice." 

Charlton  absolutely  laid  down  his  knife  in  astonishment  ;  while 
at  the  same  moment  this  slight  let  to  the  assertion  of  his  dignity 
roused  it  to  uncommon  pugnaciousness. 


442 

«  Sir — Mr.  Carleton — "  he  stammered, — •« 1  would  be  very  happy 
to  grant  anything  in  my  power, — but  this,  sir, — really  goes  beyond 
it." 

"Permit  me  to  say,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  "that  I  have  myself 
seen  Thorn  upon  the  business  that  occasioned  his  discomposure, 
and  that  it  has  been  satisfactorily  arranged  ;  so  that  nothing  more 
is  to  be  gained  or  desired  from  a  second  interview." 

Who  gave  you  authority  to  do  any  such  thing  ? — was  again  in 
Charlton's  eyes,  and  an  odd  twinge  crossed  his  mind  ;  but  as  be- 
fore  his  thoughts  were  silent. 

"  My  part  of  the  business  cannot  have  been  arranged,"  he  said, 
—"for  it  lies  in  a  question  or  two  that  I  must  put  to  the  gentleman 
myself/' 

"What  will  that  question  or  two  probably  end  in  ?"  said  Mr. 
Carleton  significantly. 

"I  can't  tell!  "  said  Rossitur, — "  depends  on  himself — it  willend 
according  to  his  answers." 

"  Is  his  offence  so  great  that  it  cannot  be  forgiven  upon  my  en 
treaty  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Carleton!  "  said  Rossitur, — "  I  would  gladly  pleasure  you, 
sir,  but  you  see,  this  is  a  thing  a  man  owes  to  himself." 

"  What  thing,  sir  ?  " 

"  Why,  not  to  suffer  impertinence  to  be  offered  him  with  im 
punity." 

"  Even  though  the  punishment  extend  to  hearts  at  home  that 
must  feel  it  far  more  heavily  than  the  offended?  " 

"  Would  you  suffer  yourself  to  be  insulted,  Mr.  Carleton  ?"  said 
Rossitur,  by  way  of  a  mouth-stopper. 

"  Not  if  I  could  help  it,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  smiling  ; — "  but  if 
such  a  misfortune  happened  I  don't  know  how  it  would  be  repaired 
by  being  made  a  matter  of  life  and  death." 

"But  honor  might,"  said  Rossitur. 

"  Honor  is  not  reached,  Capt.  Rossitur.  Honor  dwells  in  a 
strong  citadel,  and  a  squib  against  the  walls  does  in  no  wise  affect 
their  security." 

"  But  also  it  is  not  consistent  with  honor  to  sit  still  and  suffer  it.'* 

"  Question.  The  firing  of  a  cracker,  I  think,  hardly  warrants  a 
Sally." 

"  It  calls  for  chastisement  though,"  said  Rossitur  a  little  shortly, 

"- 1  don't  know  that,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  gravely.  "  We  have  fe 
on  the  highest  authority  that  it  is  the  glory  of  man  to  pass  by  a 
transgression." 

"But  you  can't  go  by  that,"  said  Charlton  a  little  fidgeted  ; — 
"the  world  wouldn't  get  along  so  ; — men  must  take  care  of  them 
selves." 

"  Certainly.  But  what  part  of  themselves  is  cared  for  in  this  re 
senting  of  injuries?" 

"  Why,  their  good  name  !  " 

"  As  how  affected  ? — pardon  me." 

"  By  the  world's  opinion,"  said  Rossitur  ; — "  which  stamps  every 
man  with  something  worse  'than  infamy  who  cannot  protect  his  own 
Standing." 

"That  is  to  say,"   said  Mr.  Carleton  seriously,- "that  Capt 


QUEECHY.  443 

Rossitur  will  punish  a  fool's  words  with  death,  or  visit  the  last  ex< 
tremity  of  distress  upon  those  who  are  dearest  to  him,  rather  than 
leave  the  world  in  any  doubt  of  his  prowess." 

"  Mr.  Carleton  !  "  said  Rossitur  coloring.  "  What  do  you  meai> 
by  speaking  so,  sir?" 

"  Not  to  displease  you,  Capt.  Rossitur." 

"Then  you  count  the  world's  opinion  for  nothing?  " 

"  For  less  than  nothing — compared  with  the  regards  I  have 
«tamed.fi 

"  You  would  brave  it  without  scruple  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  call  him  a  brave  man  who  would  not,  sir." 

"I  remember,"  said  Charlto,n,  half  laughing, — "you  did  it  y*ur* 
rfelf  once  ;  and  i  must  confess  I  believe  nobody  thought  you  lost 
anything  by  it." 

"But  forgive  me  for  asking,"  said  Mr.  Carleton, — "  is  this  ter« 
rible  world  a  party  to  ik\s  matter  ?  In  the  request  which  I  made,— 
and  which  I  have  not  given  up,  sir, — do  I  presume  upon  any  more 
than  the  sacrifice  of  a  little  private  feeling?  " 

"  Why,  yes, — "  said  Charlton  looking  somewhat  puzzled,  "for  I 
promised  the  fellow  I  would  see  to  it,  and  I  must  keep  my  word." 

"  And  you  know  how  that  will  of  necessity  issue." 

"  I  can't  consider  that,  sir  ;  that  is  a  secondary  matter.  I  must 
do  what  I  told  him  I  would." 

"At  all  hazards  ?"  said  Mr.  Carleton. 

"  What  hazards?  " 

"Not  hazard,  but  certainty, — of  incurring'a  reckoning  far  less 
easy  to  deal  with." 

"  What,  do  you  mean  with  yourself?  "  said  Rossitur. 

"  No  sir,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  a  shade  of  even  sorrowful  expres 
sion  crossing  his  face  ; — "  I  mean  with  one  whose  displeasure  is  a 
more  weighty  matter  ; — one  who  has  declared  very  distinctly, 
•Thou  shalt  not  kill.'  ' 

"I  am  sorry  for  it,"  said  Rossitur  after  a  disturbed  pause  ot 
some  minutes, — "  I  wish  you  had  asked  me  anything  else  ;  but  we 
can't  take  this  thing  in  the  light  you  do,  sir.  I  wish  Thorn  had 
been  in  any  spot  of  the  world  but  at  Mrs.  Decatur's  last  night,  or 
that  Fleda  hadn't  taken  me  there  ;  but  since  he  was,  there  is  no 
help  for  it, — I  must  make  him  account  for  his  behavior,  to  her  as 
veil  as  to  me.  I  really  don't  know  how  to  help  it,  sir." 

"  Let  me  beg  you  to  reconsider  that,"  Mr.  Carleton  said  with  a 
jmile  which  disarmed  offence, — "  for  if  you  will  not  help  it,  I  must." 

Charlton  looked  in  doubt  for  a  moment  and  then  asked  "  how  he 
would  help  it?" 

"  In  that  case,  I  shall  think  it  my  duty  to  have  you  bound  over 
«o  keep  the  peace." 

He  spoke  gravely  now,  and  with  that  quiet  tone  which  always 
carries  conviction.  Charlton  stared  unmistakably,  and  in  silence. 

"  You  are  not  not  in  earnest  ?  "  he  then  said. 

"  I  trust  you  will  permit  me  to  leave  you  forever  in  doubt  on  that 
point,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  with  again  a  slight  giving  way  of  the 
muscles  of  his  face. 

"  I  cannot  indeed,"  said  Rossitur.  "  Po  you  mean  what  you 
•aid  just  now?" 


444  QVEECHY. 

"  Entirely/' 

"But  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Rossitur,  flushing  and  not  knowing 
exactly  how  to  take  him  up, — "  is  this  the  manner  of  one  gentleman 
toward  another?" 

lie  had  not  chosen  right,  for  he  received  no  answer  but  an  abso 
lute  quietness  which  needed  no  interpretation.  Charlton  was  vexed 
and  confused,  but  somehow  it  did  not  come  into  his  head  to  pick  a 
quarrel  with  his  host,  in  spite  of  his  irritation.  That  was  perhaps 
because  he  felt  it  to  be  impossible. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  most  unconsciously  verifying 
Fleda's  words  in  his  own  person, — "  but  Mr.  Carleton,  do  me  the 
favor  to  say  that  I  have  misunderstood  your  words.  They  are  in 
comprehensible  to  me,  sir." 

"  I  must  abide  by  them  nevertheless,  Capt.  Rossitur,"  Mr, 
Carleton  answered  with  a  smile.  "  I  will  not  permit  this  thing  to 
be  done,  while,  as  I  believe,  I  have  the  power  to  prevent  it.  You 
see,"  he  said,  smiling  again, — "  I  put  in  practice  my  own  theory." 

Charlton  looked  exceedingly  disturbed,  and  maintained  a  vexetf 
and  irresolute  silence  for  several  minutes,  realizing  the  extreme  dis 
agreeableness  of  having  more  than  his  match  to  deal  with. 

"  Come  Capt.  Rossitur,"  said  the  other  turning  suddenly  roun^ 
upon  him, — "  say  that  you  forgive  me  what  you  know  was  meant  ir 
no  disrespect  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  should  not,"  said  Rossitur,  yielding  however  with  a 
half  laugh,  "if  it  were  not  for  the  truth  of  the  proverb  that  it  takes 
two  to  make  a  quarrel." 

"  Give  me  your  hand  upon  that.  And  now  that  the  question  of 
honor  is  taken  out  of  your  hands,  grant,  not  to  me  but  to  those  for 
whom  I  ask  it,  your  promise  to  forgive  this  man." 

Charlton  hesitated,  but  it  was  difficult  to  resist  the  request, 
backed  as  it  was  with  weight  of  character  and  grace  of  manner, 
along  with  its  intrinsic  reasonableness  ;  and  he  saw  no  other  way 
so  expedient  of  getting  out  of  his  dilemma. 

"I  ought  to  be  angry  with  somebody,"  he  said,  half  laughing 
and  a  little  ashamed  ; — "  if  you  will  point  out  any  substitute  for 
Thorn  I  will  let  him  go — since  I  cannot  help  myself — with  pleas 
ure." 

"I  will  bear  it,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  lightly.  "Give  me  youi 
promise  for  Thorn  and  hold  me  your  debtor  in  what  amount  yoi 
please." 

34  Very  well — I  forgive  him,"  said  Rossitur; — "and  now  Mr. 
Carleton  I  shall  have  a  reckoning  with  you  some  day  for  this." 

"  I  will  meet  it.  When  you  are  next  in  England  you  shall  come 
down  to  — — shire,  and  1  will  give  you  any  satisfaction  you  please." 

They  parted  in  high  good-humor ;  but  Charlton  looked  grave  as 
he  went  down  the  staircase  ;  and  very  oddly  all  the  way  down  to 
Whitehall  his  head  was  running  upon  the  various  excellencies  and 
perfections  of  his  cousin  Fleda. 


44t> 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

There  is  a  fortune  coming 
Toward  you,  dainty,  that  will  take  thee  thus, 
And  set  thee  aloft. 

BEN  JONSON, 

THAT  day  was  spent  by  Fleda  in  the  never-failing  headach 
which  was  sure  to  visit  her  after  any  extraordinary  nervous  agita 
tion  or  too  great  mental  or  bodily  trial.  It  was  severe  this  time, 
not  only  from  the  anxiety  of  the  preceding  night  but  from  the  un 
certainty  that  weighed  upon  her  all  day  long.  The  person  who 
could  have  removed  the  uncertainty  came  indeed  to  the  house,  but 
she  was  too  ill  to  see  anybody. 

The  extremity  of  pain  wore  itself  off  with  the  day,  and  at  even 
ing  she  was  able  to  leave  her  room  and  come  down-stairs.  But 
she  was  ill  yet,  and  could  do  nothing  but  sit  in  the  corner  of  the 
sofa,  with  her  hair  unbound,  and  Florence  gently  bathing  her  head 
with  cologne.  Anxiety  as  well  as  pain  had  in  some  measure  given 
place  to  exhaustion,  and  she  looked  a  white  embodiment  of  endur 
ance  which  gave  a  shock  to  her  friends'  sympathy.  Visitors  were 
denied, — and  Constance  and  Edith  devoted  their  eyes  and  tongues 
at  least  to  her  service,  if  they  could  do  no  more. 

It  happened  that  Joe  Manton  was  out  of  the  way,  holding  an 
important  conference  with  a  brother  usher  next  door,  a  conference 
that  he  had  no  notion  would  be  so  important  when  he  began  it  ; 
when  a  ring  on  his  own  premises  summoned  one  of  the  maid-serv 
ants  to  the  door.  She  knew  nothing  about  "  not  at  home,"  and 
unceremoniously  desired  the  gentleman  to  "walk  up," — "the 
ladies  were  in  the  drawing-room." 

The  door  had  been  set  wide  open  for  the  heat,  and  Fleda  was 
close  in  the  corner  behind  it ;  gratefully  permitting  Florence's 
efforts  with  the  cologne,  which  yet  she  knew  could  avail  nothing 
but  the  kind  feelings  of  the  operator  ;  for  herself  patiently  waiting 
her  enemy's  time.  Constance  was  sitting  on  the  floor  looking  at 
her. 

"  I  can't  conceive  how  you  can  bear  so  much,"  she  said  at 
ength. 

Fleda  thought,  how  little  she  knew  what  was  borne  ! 

"  Why  you  could  bear  it  I  suppose  if  you  had  to/    said  Edi 
philosophically. 

"She   knows   she   looks   most   beautiful/1  said  Florence, 
passing  her  cologned  hands  down  over  the  smooth  hair  ; — "  she 
knows 

"  <  II  faut  souffrir  pour  etre  belle.'  " 

"  La  migraine  ne  se  guerit  avec  les  douceurs,"  said  Mr.  Carleton 
entering  ; — "try  something  sharp  Miss  Evelyn." 

"Where  are  we  to  get  it?"  said  Constance  springing  up,  and 
adding  in  a  most  lack-a-daisical  aside  to  her  mother,  "(Mamm-a! 


446  QUEECHT. 

—che  fowling-piece  !) — Our  last  vinegar  hardly  comes  under  th«  ap» 
pellation  ;  and  you  don't  expect  to  find  anything  volatile  in  this 
house,  Mr.  Carleton?" 

He  smiled. 

"  Have  you  none  for  grave  occasions.  Miss  Constance?" 

"  1  won't  retort  the  question  about  '  something  sharp,  "  said 
Constance  arching  her  eyebrows,  "  because  it  is  against  my  princi 
ples  to  make  people  uncomfortable  ;  but  you  have  certainly  brought 
in  some  medicine  with  you,  for  Miss  Ringgan's  cheeks  a  little  while 
ago  were  as  pure  as  her  mind — from  a  tinge  of  any  sort — and  nows 
you  see — " 

"  My  dear  Constance,"  said  her  mother,  "  Miss  Ringgan's  cheeks 
will  stand  a  much  better  chance  if  you  come  away  and  leave  her  in 
peace.  How  can  she  get  well  with  such  a  chatter  in  her  ears." 

"  Mr.  Carleton  and  I,  mamma,  are  conferring  upon  measures  of 
relief, — and  Miss  Ringgan  gives  token  of  improvement  already." 

"  For  which  I  am  very  little  to  be  thanked,"  said  Mr.  Carleton. 
"  But  I  am  not  a  bringer  of  bad  news,  that  she  should  look  pale  at 
the  sight  of  me." 

"Are  you  a  bringer  of  any  news?"  said  Constance,  "O  do  let 
us  have  them,  Mr.  Carleton  ! — I  am  dying  for  news — I  haven't 
heard  a  bit  to-day." 

"What  is  the  news,  Mr.  Carleton?"  said  her  mother's  voice, 
from  the  more  distant  region  of  the  fire. 

"  I  believe  there  are  no  general  news,  Mrs.  Evelyn." 

"Are  there  any  particular  news?"  said  Constance. — "I  like 
particular  news  infinitely  the  best !  " 

"  I  s»,n>  sorry.  Miss  Constance,  I  have  none  for  you.  But — will 
this  headacne  yield  to  nothing  ?  " 

"Fleda  prophesied  that  it  would  to  time,"  said  Florence; — 
"she  would  not  let  us  try  much  beside." 

"And  I  must  confess  there  has  been  no  volatile  agency  em 
ployed  at  all,"  said  Constance  ; — "  I  never  knew  time  have  less 
of  it ;  and  Fleda  seemed  to  prefer  him  for  her  physician." 

"He  hasn't  been  a  good  one  to-day,"  said  Edith  nestling  af 
fectionately  to  her  side.  "Isn't  it  better,  Fleda?" — for  she  had 
cohered  her  eyes  with  her  hand. 

"  Not  just  now,"  said  Fleda  softly. 

"It  is  fair  to  change  physicians  if  the  first  fails,"  said  Mrc 
Carleton.  "  I  have  had  a  slight  experience  in  headache-curing, 
— if  you  will  permit  me,  Miss  Constance,  I  will  supersede  time  and 
try  a  different  prescription." 

He  went  out  to  seek  it ;  and  Fleda  leaned  her  head  in  her  hand 
and  tried  to  quiet  the  throbbing  heart  every  pulsation  of  which 
was  felt  so  keenly  at  the  seat  of  pain.  She  knew  from  Mr.  Carle- 
ton's  voice  and  manner, — she  thought  she  knew, — that  he  had  ex 
ceeding  good  tidings  for  her ;  once  assured  of  that  she  would  soon 
be  better  ;  but  she  was  worse  now. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Carleton  gone?  "   said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"  I  haven't  the  least  idea,  mamma — he  has  ventured  upon  an  ex 
traordinary  undertaking  and  has  gone  off  to  qualify  himself,  I  sup« 
pose.  I  can't  conceive  why  he  didn't  ask  Miss  Ringgan's  permis 
sion  to  change  her  physician,  instead  of  mine." 


QUEECHT.  44* 

"I  suppose  he  knew  there  was  no  doubt  about  that,"  said  Edith, 
hitting  the  precise  answer  of  Fleda's  thoughts. 

'±And  what  should  make  him  think  there  was  any  doubt  abouf 
wine  ?  "  said  Constance  tartly. 

"  O  you  know,"  said  her  sister,  "  you  are  so  odd  nobody  can 
tell  what  you  will  take  a  fancy  to." 

"  You  are — extremely  liberal  in  your  expressions,  at  least,  Miss 
Evelyn, — I  must  'Say,"  said  Constance,  with  a  glance  of  no  doubt 
ful  meaning. — "  Joe — did  you  let  Mr.  Carleton  in?  " 

14  No,  ma'am." 

"  Well  let  him  in  next  time  ;  and  don't  let  in  anybody  else.  * 

Whereafter  the  party  relapsed  into  silent  expectation. 

It  was  not  many  minutes  before  Mr.  Carleton  returned. 

"  Tell  your  friend,  Miss  Constance,"  he  said  putting  an  exquisite 
iittle  vinaigrette  into  her  hand, — "  that  I  have  nothing  worse  for  her 
than  that." 

"Worse  than  this!"  said  Constance  examining  it.  "Mr. 
Carleton — I  doubt  exceedingly  whether  smelling  this  will  afford 
Miss  Ringgan  any  benefit." 

"  Why,  Miss  Constance  ?  " 

"  Because — it  has  made  me  sick  only  to  look  at  it !  " 

"There  will  be  no  danger  for  her,"  he  said  smiling. 

"  Won't  there?— Well,  Fleda  my  dear— here,  take  it,"  said  the 
young  lady  ; — "  I  hope  you  are  differently  constituted  ^rom  me,  for 
I  feel  a  sudden  pain  since  I  saw  it  ; — but  as  you  keep  your  eyes  shut 
and  so  escape  the  sight  of  this  lovely  gold  chasing,  perhaps  it  will 
do  you  no  mischief." 

"  It  will  do  her  all  the  more  good  for  that,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

The  only  ears  that  took  the  benefit  of  this  speech  were  Edith's 
and  Mr.  Carleton's  ;  Fleda's  were  deafened  by  the  rush  of  feeling. 
She  very  little  knew  what  she  was  holding.  Mr.  Carleton  stood 
with  rather  significant  gravity  watching  the  effect  of  his  prescrip 
tion,  while  Edith  beset  her  mother  to  know  why  the  outside  of  the 
vinaigrette  being  of  gold  should  make  it  do  Fleda  any  more 
good  ;  the  disposing  of  which  question  effectually  occupied  Mrs. 
Evelyn's  attention  for  some  time. 

"  And  pray  how  long  is  it  since  you  took  up  the  trade  of  a  physi- 
dan,  Mr.  Carleton?"  said  Constance. 

"  It  is — just  about  nine  years,  Miss  Constance,"  he  answeref 
gravely. 

But  that  little  reminder,  slight  as  it  was,  overcame  the  smalt 
remnant  of  Fleda's  self-command  ;  the  vinaigrette  fell  from  her 
hands  and  her  face  was  hid  in  them  ;  whatever  became  of  pain, 
tears  must  flow. 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  gently,  bending  down  to 
ward  her,  "for  speaking  when  I  should  have  been  silent.  — 
Miss  Evelyn,  and  Miss  Constance,  will  you  permit  me  to  order  that 
my  patient  be  left  in  quiet." 

And  he  took  them  away  to  Mrs.  Evelyn's  quarter,  and  kept  them 
all  three  engaged  in  conversation  too  busily  to  trouble  Fleda  with 
any  attention  ;  till  she  had  had  ample  time  to  try  the  effect  of  the 
•uiet  and  of  the  vinegar  both,  Then  he  went  himself  to  look  after 

ftr, 


448  4UEECHY. 

"  Are  you  better?"  said  he,  bending  down  and  speaking  low. 

Fleda  opened  her  eyes  and  gave  him,  what  a  look  ! — of  grate* 
Jul  feeling.  She  did  not  know  the  half  that  was  in  it  ;  but  he 
did.  That  she  was  better  was  a  very  small  item. 

"  Ready  for  the  coffee  ?  "  said  he  smiling. 

"  O  no,"  whispered  Fleda, — "it  don't  matter  about  that — never 
Blind  the  coffee  !  " 

But  he  went  back  with  his  usual  calmness  to*  Mrs.  Evelyn  and 
begged  that  she  would  have  the  goodness  to  order  a  cup  of  rather 
strong  coffee  to  be  made. 

"  But  Mr.  Carleton,  sir,"  said  that  lady, — "  I  am  not  at  all 
sure  that  it  would  be  the  best  thing  for  Miss  Ringgan — if  she  is 
better, — I  think  it  would  do  her  far  more  good  to  go  to  rest  and  let 
sleep  finish  her  cure,  before  taking  something  that  will  make  sleep 
impossible." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  physician,  Mrs.  Evelyn,"  he  said  smil 
ing,  "that  allowed  his  prescriptions  to  be  interfered  with  ?  I  must 
beg  you  will  do  me  this  favor." 

"  I  doubt  very  much  whether  it  will  be  a  favor  to  Miss  Ringgan," 
said  Mrs.  Evelyn, — "however — " 

And  she  rang  the  bell  and  gave  the  desired  order,  with  a  some* 
what  disconcerted  face.  But  Mr.  Carleton  again  left  Fleda  to  her 
self  and  demoted  his  attention  to  the  other  ladies,  with  so  much  suc 
cess,  though  with  his  usual  absence  of  effort,  that  good  humor  was 
served  long  before  the  coffee. 

Then  indeed  he  played  the  physician's  part  again  ;  made  the 
coffee  himself  and  saw  it  taken,  according  to  his  own  pleasure  : 
skilfully  however  seeming  all  the  while,  ^oept  to  Fleda,  to  be  oc 
cupied  with  everything  else.  The  group  gathered  round  her  anew  ; 
she  was  well  enough  to  bear  their  talk  by  this  time  ;  by  the  time  the 
coffee  was  drunk  quite  well. 

41  Is  it  quite  gone  ?  "  asked  Edith. 

"  The  headache  ?— yes." 

••  You  will  owe  your  physician  a  great  many  thanks,  my  dea* 
Fleda,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

Fleda' s  only  answer  to  this  however,  was  by  a  very  slight  smile; 
and  she  presently  left  the  room,  to  go  up-stairs  and  arrange  her  y«f 
disarranged  hair. 

"That  is  a  very  fine  girl,"  remarked  Mrs.  Evelyn,  preparing 
lalf  a  cup  of  coffee  for  herself  in  a  kind  of  amused  abstraction,— 
"•my  friend  Mr.  Thorn  will  have  an  excellent  wife  of  her." 

"Provided  she  marries  him,"  said  Constance  somewhat  shortly. 

"  I  am  sure  I  hope  she  won't,"  said  Edith,—"  and  I  don't  be 
lieve  she  will." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  his  chances  of  success,  Mr.  Carleton  ?  " 

"  Your  manner  of  speech  would  seem  to  imply  that  they  are  very 
good,  Mrs.  Evelyn,"  he  answered  coolly. 

"Well  don't  you  think  so,?"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  coming  back  to 
her  seat  with  her  coffee-cup,  and  apparently  dividing  her  attention 
between  it  and  her  subject, —  "  It's  a  great  chance  for  her — most  girls 
in  her  circumstances  would  not  refuse  it — /think  he's  pretty  sure  o$ 
his  ground." 

"So  I  think,"  said  Florence- 


QVEECHY.  443 

If c  It  don't  prove  anything,  if  he  is,"  said  Constance  dryly,     "  T 
nate  people  who  are  always  sure  of  theii  ground  !" 
"What  do  you  think,  Mr.  Carleton?"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  taking 
little  satisfied  sips  of  her  coffee. 
"  May    I  ask  first,    what  is  meant  by  the  '  chance  '  and  what  by 
the  '  circumstances.'  ' 
"  Why  Mr.  Thorn  has  a  fine  fortune,  you  know,  and  he  is  of  an 
excellent  family — there  is  not  a  better  family  in  the  city— and  very 
few  young  men  of  such  pretensions  would  think  of  a  girl  that  ha" 
10  name  nor  standi-ng." 
"  Unless  she  had  qualities  that  would  command  them,"  said  Mr 
Carleton. 
"  But  Mr.  Carleton,  sir  "  said  the  lady, — "  do  you  think  that  can 
be  ?  do  you  think  a  woman  can  fill  gracefully  a  high  place  in  society 
if  she  has  had  disadvantages  in  early  life  to  contend  with  that  were 
calculated  to  unfit  her  for  it  ?  " 

"  But  mamma,"  said  Constance, — "  Fleda  don't  show  any  such 
thing." 

"  No,  she  don't  show  it,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn, — "  but  I  am  not 
talking  of  Fleda — I  am  talking  of  the  effect  of  early  disadvantages. 
What  do  you  think,  Mr.  Carleton  ? " 

"  Disadvantages  of  what  kind,  Mrs.   Evelyn  ?  " 
"  Why,    foi    instance, — the     strange  habits   of  intercourse,    on 
rfamiliar  terms,  with  rough  and  uncultivated  people, — such  inter- 
' course  for  years — in  all  sorts  of  ways, — in  the  field  and  in  the  house, 
mingling  with  them  as  one  of  them — it  seems  to  me  it  must  leave 
its  traces  on  the  mind  and  on  the  habits  of  acting  and  thinking  ?  " 

"There  is  no  doubt  it  does,"  he  answered  with  an  extremely  un 
concerned  face. 

"And  then  there's  the  actual  want  of  cultivation,"  said  Mrs. 
Evelyn,  warming  ; — «•  time  taken  up  with  other  things,  you  know, 
— usefully  and  properly,  but  still  taken  up, — so  as  to  make  much 
intellectual  acquirement  and  accomplishments  impossible  ;  it  can't 
be  otherwise,  you  know, — neither  opportunity  nor  instructors  ;  and 
I  don't  think  anything  can  supply  the  want  in  after  iife — it  isn't  the 
mere  things  themselves  which  may  be  acquired — the  mind  sLould 
grow  up  in  the  atmosphere  of  them — don't  you  think  so,  Mr.  Carle- 
'•on  ?  " 
He  bowed. 

"  Music,  for  instance,  and  languages,  and  converse  with  society, 
and  a  great  many  things,  are  put  completely  beyond  reach  ; — 
Edith,  my  dear,  you  are  not  to  touch  the  coffee, — nor  Constance 
either, — no  I  will  not  let  you, — And  there  could  not  be  even  much 
reading,  for  want  of  books  if  for  nothing  else.  Perhaps  I  am 
wrong,  but  I  confess  I  don't  see  how  it  is  possible  in  such  a  case" — 
She  checked  herself  suddenly,  for  Fleda  with  the  slow  noiseless 
step  that  weakness  imposed  had  come  in  again  and  stood  by  the 
centre -table. 

"  W"  are  discussing  a  knotty  question.  Miss  Ringgan,"  said  Mr. 
Carleton  with  a  smile,  as  he  brought  a  bergere  for  her  ;  "I  should 
like  to  have  your  voice  on  it." 

There  was  no  seconding  of  his  motion.  He  waited  till  she  had 
seated  herself  and  then  went  on. 


V 


450 

"  What  in  your  opinion  is  the  best  preparation  for  wearing  pro* 
perity  well?"' 

A  glance  at  Mrs.  Evelyn's  face  which  was  opposite  her,  and  a8 
one  or  two  others  which  had  undeniably  the  air  of  being  arrested, 
was  enough  for  Fleda's  quick  apprehension.  She  knew  they  had 
been  talking  of  her.  Her  eye  stopped  short  of  Mr.  Carleton's  and 
she  colored  and  hesitated.  No  one  spoke. 

"  By  prosperity  you  mean — ?" 

"  Rank  and  fortune,"  said  Florence,  without  looking  up. 

"  Marrying  a  rich  man,  for  instance,"  said  Edith,  "  and  having 
one's  hands  full." 

This  peculiar  statement  of  the  case  occasioned  a  laugh  all  round, 
but  the  silence  which  followed  seemed  still  to  wait  upoii  Fleda  s 
reply. 

"  Am  I  expected  to  give  a  serious  answer  to  that  question  ?  "  she 
said  a  little  doubtfully. 

"  Expectations  are  not  stringent  things,"  said  her  first  questioner 
smiling.  "  That  waits  upon  your  choice." 

"  They  are  horridly  stringent,  /think,"  said  Constance.  "  We 
shall  all  be  disappointed  if  you  don't  Fleda  my  dear. 

"  By  wearing  it  '  well9  you  mean,  making  a  good  use  of  it?" 

"  And  gracefully,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn. 

"  I  think  I  should  say  then,"  said  Fleda  after  some  little  hesi* 
tation  and  speaking  with  evident  difficulty, —  "Such  an  experi* 
ence  as  might  teach  one  both  the  worth  and  the  worthlessness  of 
money." 

Mr.  Carleton's  smile  was  a  sufficiently  satisfied  one  ;  but  MM. 
Evelyn  retorted, 

"  The  worth  and  the  worthlessness  / — Fleda  my  dear,  I  don't  un 
derstand — " 

"And  what  experience  teaches  one  the  worth  and  what  the 
worthlessness  of  money  ?"  said  Constance  ; — "  Mamma  is  morbidly 
persuaded  that  I  do  not  understand  the  first — of  the  second  I  have 
an  indefinite  idea  from  never  being  able  to  do  more  than  half 
that  I  want  with  it." 

Fleda  smiled  and  hesitated  again,  in  a  way  that  showed  she 
would  willingly  be  excused,  but  the  silence  left  her  no  choice  but 
to  speak. 

"  I  think,"  said  modestly,  "  that  a  person  can  hardly  under 
stand  the  true  worth  of  money, — the  ei:ds  it  can  best  subserve,— 
that  has  not  been  taught  it  by  his  own  experience  of  the  wap* 
and — ' 

"  What  follows?  "  said  Mr.  Carleton. 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  sir,  that  there  is  danger,  especially  when 
people  have  not  been  accustomed  to  it,  that  they  will  greatly  over 
value  and  misplace  the  real  worth  of  prosperity  ;  unless  the 
mind  has  been  steadied  by  another  kind  of  experience,  and  has 

learned  to  measure  J^ingr^hvaJ]i^hfir firate^ 

"And  how  when  they  have  been  accustomed  to  it?"  said 
Florence. 

"  The  same  danger,  without  the  '  especially',"  said  Fleda,  with 
a  .'ook  lhat  disclaimed  any  assuming. 

"One  thing  is  certain,"  said  Constance,— " you  hardly  ever «e*» 


451 

ffs  nouveaux  riches  make  a  giaceiui  use  of  anything. — Fleda  my 
dear,  I  am  seconding  all  of  your  last  speech  that  I  understand. 
•  Mamma,  I  perceive,  is  at  work  upon  the  rest." 

"  I  think  we  ought  all  to  be  at  work  upon  it,"  said  Mrs, 
Evelyn,  "for  Miss  Ringgan  has  made  it  out  that  there  is  hardly 
anybody  here  that  is  qualified  to  wear  prosperity  well." 

"  I  was  just  thinking  so,"  said  Florence. 

Fleda  said  nothing,  and  perhaps  her  color  rose  a  little. 

"  I  will  take  lessons  of  her,"  said  Constance,  with  eye-brows 
,vj6t  raised  enough  to  neutralize  the  composed  gravity  of  the  other 
<eatures, — "as  soon  as  I  have  an  amount  of  prosperity  that  will 
make  it  worth  while." 

"But  1  don't  think."  said  Florence,  "that  a  graceful  use  of 
things  is  consistent  with  such  a  careful  valuation  and  considering  of 
the  exact  worth  of  everything — it's  not  my  idea  of  grace." 

"  Yet  propriety  is  an  essential  element  of  gracefulness,  Miss 
Evelyn. 

"  Well,"  said  Florence, — "  certainly  ;  but  what  then  ?  " 

"  Is  it  attainable,  in  the  use  of  means,  without  a  nioe  knowledge 
of  their  true  value  ?  " 

"  But  Mr.  Carleton,  I  am  sure  I  have  seen  improper  things — 
things  improper  in  a  way — gracefully  done  ?  " 

"No  doubt;  but  Miss  Evelyn,"  said  he  smiling,  "the  im 
propriety  did  not  in  those  .cases,  I  presume,  attach  itself  to  the 
other  quality.  The  graceful  manner  was  strictly  proper  to  its  ends, 
was  it  not,  however  the  ends  might  be  false  ?  " 

•'  I  don't  know,"  said  Florence  ; — "  you  have  gone  too  deep  for 
me.  But  do  you  think  that  close  calculation,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  is  likely  to  make  people  use  money,  or  anything  else,  grace 
fully  ?  I  never  thought  it  did." 

"  Not  close  calculation  alone,"  said  Mr.  Carleton. 

"  But  do  you  think  it  is  consistent  with  gracefulness?  " 

"  The  largest  and  grandest  views  of  material  things  that  man 
has  ever  taken,  Miss  Evelyn,  stand  upon  a  basis  of  the  closest 
calculation." 

Florence  worked  at  her  worsted  and  looked  very  dissatisfied. 

"O  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Constance  as  he  was  going, — "  don  fc 
'eave  your  vinaigrette — there  it  is  on  the  table." 

He  made  no  motion  to  take  it  up. 

••  Don't  you  know,  Miss  Constance,  that  physicians  seldom  like 
/>  have  anything  to  do  with  their  own  prescriptions  ?  " 

"  It's  very  suspicious  of  them,"  said  Constance  ; — "  but  you 
must  take  it  Mr.  Carleton,  if  you  please,  for  I  shouldn't  like  the 
responsibility  of  its  being  left  here  ;  and  I  am  afraid  it  would  be 
dangerous  to  our  peace  of  mind,  besides." 

"  I  shall  risk  that,"  he  said  laughing.     "  It's  work  is  not  done." 

"And  then,  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  and  Fleda  knew 
with  what  a  look, — "  you  know  physicians  are  accustomed  to  be 
paid  when  their  prescriptions  are  taken." 

But  the  answer  to  this  was  only  a  bow,  so  expressive  in  its  air  of 
haughty  coldness  that  any  further  efforts  of  Mrs.  Evelyn's  wit  were 
chilled  for  some  minutes  after  he  had  gone. 

Fleda  had  not  seen  this.     She  had  taken  up  the  vinaigrette,  and 


152 

was  thinkiij;;;  .-ith  a<  ute  pleasure  that  Mr.  Carleton  s  manner  lasC 
night  arc!  to-night  had  returned  to  all  the  familiar  kindness  of  old 
tiwes.  Not  as  it  had  been  daring  the  rest  of  her  stay  in  the  city. 
She  could  be  quite  contented  now  to  have  him  go  back  to 
England,  with  this  pleasant  remembrance  left  her.  She  sat  turning 
over  the  vinaigrette,  which  to  her  fancy  was  covered  with  hiero 
glyphics  that  no  one  else  could  read  ;  of  her  uncle's  affair,  of 
Charlton's  danger,  of  her  own  distress,  and  the  kindness  whkh 
had  wrought  its  relief,  more  penetrating  and  pleasant  that  evea 
the  fine  aromatic  scent  which  fairly  typified  it, — Constance's  voice 
<roke  in  upon  her  musings. 

"  Iin't  it  awkward?"  she  said  as  she  saw  Fleda  handling  and 
looking  at  the  pretty  toy, — "  Isn't  it  awkward?  I  sha  n't  have  a 
bit  of  rest  now  for  fear  something  will  happen  to  that.  I  hate  to 
have  people  do  such  things!  " 

"Fleda  my  deart,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn, — "I  wouldn't  handle  itt 
my  love  ;  you  may  depend  there  is  some  charm  in  it — some  mis 
chievous  hidden  influence, — and  if  you  have  much  to  do  with  it  I 
am  afraid  you  will  find  a  gradual  coldness  stealing  over  you,  and 
a  strange  forgetfulness  of  Queechy,  and  you  will  perhaps  lose  your 
desire  ever  to  go  back  there  any  more." 

The  vinaigrette  dropped  from  Fleda  s  fingers,  but  beyond  at. 
heightened  color  and  a  little  tremulous  gravity  about  the  lip,  she 
gave  no  other  sign  of  emotion. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Florence  laughing, — "  you  are  too  bad  !  " 

"Mamma,"  said  Constance,  "I  wonder  hotv  any  tender  senti 
ment  for  you  can  continue  to  exist  in  Fleda's  breast! — By  the  way, 
Fieda  my  dear,  do  you  know  that  we  have  heard  of  two  escorts  for 
you  ?  but  I  only  tell  you  because  I  know  you'll  not  be  fit  to  travel. 
this  age  ? ' ' 

"  I  should  not  be  able  to  travel  to-morrow,"  said  Fleda. 

"They  are  not  going  to-morrow,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  quietly. 

••Who  are  they?  " 

44  Excellent  ones,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn.  "One  of  them  is  your 
old  friend  Mr.  Olmney." 

"  Mr.  Olmney  !  "  said  Fleda.  "  What  has  brought  him  to  New 
York?" 

"  Really,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn  laughing, — "  I  do  not  know,     What 
should  keep  him  away?     I  was  very  glad  to  see  him,  for  my  part 
Maybe  he  has  come  to  take  you  home." 

"  Who  is  the  other  ?  "  said  Fleda. 

"  That  s  another  old  friend  of  yotirs — Mrs.  Renney." 

"Mrs.  Renney? — who  is  she?"  said  Fleda. 

"  Why  don't  you  know  ?  Mrs.  Renney — she  used  to  live  with 
your  aunt  Lucy  in  some  capacity — years  ago, — when  she  was  in 
New  York, — housekeeper,  I  think  ;  don't  you  remember  her?" 

"Perfectly,  now,"  said  Fleda.     "  Mrs.  Renney  ! — " 

"  She  has  been  housekeeper  for  Mrs.  Schenck  these  several 
years,  and  she  is  going  somewhere  out  West  to  some  relation,  her 
brother,  I  believe,  to  take  care  of  his  family  ;  and  her  road  leads 
her  your  way. ' ' 

"  When  do  they  go,  Mrs.  Evelyn  ?  " 

"Both  the  same  day.  and  both  the  day  after  to-morrow.     Mr* 


QUEECHY.  453 

Olmney  takes  the  morning  train,  he  says,  unless  you  wouM  prefer 
some  other, — I  told  him  you  were  very  anxious  to  go, — and  Mrs. 
Renney  goes  in  the  afternoon.  So  there's  a  choice  for  you." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Constance,  "  Fleda  is  not  fit  to  go  at  all,  either 
time." 

"  I  don't  think  she  is,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn.  ••'  But  she  knows  best 
what  she  likes  to  do." 

Thoughts  and  resolutions  came  swiftly  one  after  another  into 
Fleda's  mind  and  were  decided  upon  in  as  quick  succession. 
First,  that  she  must  go  the  day  after  to-morrow,  at  all  events. 
Second,  that  it  should  not  be  with  Mr.  Olmney.  Third,  that  to 
prevent  that,  she  must  not  see  him  in  the  mean  time,  and  therefore — 
yes,  no  help  for  it, — must  refuse  to  see  any  one  that  called  the  next 
day  ;  there  was  to  be  a  party  in  the  evening,  so  then  she  would  be 
safe.  No  doubt  Mr.  Carleton  would  come,  to  give  her  a  more 
particular  account  of  what  he  had  done,  and  she  wished  unspeaka 
bly  to  hear  it  ;  but  it  was  not  possible  that  she  should  make  an 
exception  in  his  favor  and  admit  him  alone.  That  could  not  be. 
If  friends  would  only  be  simple  and  straightforward  and  kind, — 
one  could  afford  to  be  straightforward  too  ; — but  as  it  was  she  must 
not  do  what  she  longed  to  do  and  they  would  be  sure  to  misunder 
stand.  There  was  indeed  the  morning  of  the  day  following  left  her, 
if  Mr.  Olmney  did  not  take  it  into  his  head  to  stay.  And  it  might 
issue  in  her  not  seeing  Mr.  Carleton  at  all,  to  bid  good-bye  and 
thank  him?  He  would  not  think  her  ungrateful,  he  knew  better 
than  that,  but  still—  Well !  so  much  for  kindness  ! — 

What  are  you  looking  so  grave  about?  "   said  Constance. 
'  Considering  ways  and  means,"   Fleda  said  with  a  slight  smile. 

Ways  and  means  of  what  ?  " 

Going." 

You  don't  mean  to  go  the  day  after  to-morrow  ?  " 

Yes." 

It's  too  absurd  for  anything  !     You  sha'n't  do  it." 

I  must  indeed." 

Mamma,"  said  Constance,  "  if  you  permit  such  a  thing,  I  shall 
hope  that  memory  will  be  a  fingerboard  of  remorse  to  you,  pointing 
to  .Miss  Ringgan's  pale  cheeks. 

"  I  shall  charge  it  entirely  upon  Miss  Ringgan's  own  finger- 
board,"  said  Mrs.  Evelyn,  with  her  complacently  amused  face, 
•'  Fleda,  my  dear,— shall  I  request  Mr.  Olmney  to  delay  his  journey 
,or  a  day  or  two,  my  love,  till  you  are  stronger?  " 

"Not  at  all,  Mrs.  Evelyn  !  I  shall  go  then  ;— if  I  am  not  ready- 
in  the  morning  I  will  take  Mrs.  Renney  in  the  afternoon — I  would 
quite  as  lief  go  with  her." 

"  Then  T  will  make  Mr.  Olmney  keep  to  his  first  purpose,"  said 
Mrs.  Evelyn. 

Poor  Fleda,  though  with  a  very  sorrowful  heart,  kept  her  resolu 
tions,  and  for  very  forlornness  and  weariness  slept  away  a  great 
part  of  the  next  day.  Neither  would  she  appear  in  the  evening,  for 
fear  of  more  people  than  one.  It  was  impossible  to  tell  whether 
Mrs.  Evelyn's  love  of  mischief  would  not  bring  Mr.  Olmney  there, 
and  the  Thorns,  she  knew,  were  invited.  Mr.  Lewis  would  prob 
ably  absent  himself,  but  Fleda  could  not  endure  even  the  chanct 


454  QUEECHY. 

*f  seeing  his  mother.  She  wanted  to  know,  but  dared  not  ask, 
whether  Mr.  Carleton  had  been  to  see  her.  What  if  to-morrow 
Horning  should  pass  without  her  seeing  him  ?  Fleda  pondered 
this  uncertainty  a  little,  and  then  jumped  out  of  bed  and  wrote  him 
the  heartiest  little  note  of  thanks  and  remembrance  that  tears  would 
l«t  her  write  ;  sealed  it,  and  carried  it  herself  to  the  nearest  branch 
of  the  despatch  post  the  first  thing  next  morning. 

She  took  a  long  look  that  same  morning  at  the  little  vinaigrette 
which  still  lay  on  the  centre-table,  wishing  very  much  to  take  it  up 
3tair»  and  pack  it  away  among  her  things.  It  was  meant  for  her 
3he  knew,  and  she  wanted  it  as  a  very  pleasant  relic  from  the  kind 
hands  that  had  given  it  ;  and  besides,  he  might  think  it  odd  if  she 
should  slight  his  intention.  But  how  odd  it  would  seem  to  him  if 
he  knew  that  the  Evelyns  had  half  appropriated  it.  And  appro 
priate  it  anew,  in  another  direction,  she  could  not.  She  could  not 
without  their  knowledge,  and  they  would  put  their  own  absurd  con 
struction  on  what  was  a  simple  matter  of  kindness ;  she  could  not 
brave  it. 

The  morning,  a  long  one  it  was,  had  passed  away  ;  Fleda  had 
just  finished  packing  her  trunk,  and  was  sitting  with  a  faint-hearted 
feeling  of  body  and  mind,  trying  to  rest  before  being  called  to  her 
early  dinner,  when  Florence  came  to  tell  her  it  was  ready. 

"  Mr.  Carleton  was  here  awhile  ago,"  she  said,  "  and  he  asked 
for  you  ;  but  mamma  said  you  were  busy  ;  she  knew  you  had 
enough  to  tire  you  without  coming  down-stairs  to  see  him.  He 
asked  when  you  thought  of  going." 

41  What  did  you  tell  him  ?" 

"  I  told  him,  '  O  you  were  not  gone  yet !  * — it's  such  a  plague  to 
be  bidding  people  good-bye— /always  want  to  get  rid  of  it.  Was 
I  right?" 

Fleda  said  nothing,  but  in  her  heart  she  wondered  what  possible 
concern  it  could  be  of  her  friends  if  Mr.  Carleton  wanted  to  see  her 
before  she  went  away.  She  felt  it  was  unkind — they  did  not  know 
how  unkind,  for  they  did  not  understand  that  he  was  a  very  particu 
lar  friend  and  an  old  friend — they  could  not  tell  what  reason  there 
was  for  her  wishing  to  bid  him  good-bye.  She  thought  she  should 
have  liked  to  do  it,  very  much. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

Methought  I  was — there  is  no  man  can  tell  what.     Methought  I 
a.nd  methought  I  had, — But  man  is  but  a  patched  fool,  if  he  will  offer  tc 
say  what  methought  I  had. — MIDSUMMER  MIGHT'S  DREAM. 

MRS.  EVELYN  drove  down  to  the  boat  with  Fleda  and  did  not 
leave  her  till  she  was  safely  put  in  charge  of  Mrs.  Renney.  Fleda 
immediately  retreated  to  the  innermost  depths  of  the  ladies'  cabin, 
hoping  to  find  some  rest  for  the  body  at  least  if  not  forgetfulness  for 
the  mind. 

The  latter  was  not  to  be.  Mrs.  Renney  was  exceeding  glad  to 
see  her  and  bent  upon  knowing  what  had  become  of  her  since  those 
days  when  they  used  to  know  each  other. 

"  You're  just  the  same,  Miss  Fleda,  that  you  used  to  be — you're 


qUEECHY.  454 

very  little  altered — I  can  see  that — though  you're  looking  a  good 
deal  more  thin  and  pale — you  had  very  pretty  roses  in  your  cheeks 
in  those  times. — Yes,  I  know,  I  understood  Mrs.  Evelyn  to  say  you 
had  not  been  well  ;  but  allowing  for  that  I  can  see  you  are  just  your« 
self  still — I'm  glad  of  it.  Do  you  recollect,  Miss  Fleda,  what  a 
little  thing  you  was  then  ?  " 

"  I  recollect,  very  well,"  said  Fleda. 

"  I'm  sure  of  another  thing — you're  just  as  good  as  you  used  to 
be,"  said  the  housekeeper  looking  at  her  complacently.  "  Do  you 
remember  how  you  used  to  come  into  my  room  to  see  me  make 
jelly  ?  I  see  it  as  well  as  if  it  was  yesterday  ; — and  you  used  to  be& 
me  to  let  you  squeeze  the  lemons  ;  and  I  never  could  refuse  you, 
because  you  never  did  anything  I  didn't  want  you  to  ;  and  do  you 
mind  how  I  used  to  tie  you  up  in  a  big  towel  for  fear  you  would 
stain  your  dress  with  the  acid,  and  I'd  stand  and  watch  to  see  you 
putting  all  your  strength  to  squeeze  'em  clean,  and  be  afraid  that 
Mrs.  Rossitur  would  be  angry  with  me  for  letting  you  spoil  your 
hands  ;  but  you  used  to  look  up  and  smile  at  me  so,  I  couldn't 
help  myself  but  let  you  do  just  whatever  you  had  a  mind.  You 
don't  look  quite  so  light  and  bright  as  you  did  in  those  times  ; — but 
to  be  sure,  you  ain't  feeling  well!  See  here — just  let  me  pull  some 
of  these  things  onto  this  settee,  and  you  put  yourself  down  there 
and  rest — pillows — let's  have  another  pillow, — there,  how's  that !  " 

Oh  if  Fleda  might  have  silenced  her!  She  thought  it  was  rather 
hard  that  she  should  have  two  talkative  companions  on  this  journey 
of  all  others.  The  housekeeper  paused  no  longer  than  to  arrange 
her  couch  and  see  her  comfortably  laid  down. 

"  And  then  Mr.  Hugh  would  come  in  to  find  you  and  carry  you 
away — he  never  could  bear  to  be  long  from  you.  How  is  Mr. 
Hugh,  Miss  Fleda  ?  he  used  to  be  always  a  very  delicate-looking 
child.  I  remember  you  and  him  used  to  be  always  together — he 
tvas  a  very  sweet  boy  !  I  have  often  said  I  never  saw  such  another 
pair  of  children.  How  does  Mr.  Hugh  have  his  health,  Mis»£ 
Fleda?" 

"  Not  very  well,  just  now,"  said  Fleda  gently,  and  shutting  her 
eyes  that  they  might  reveal  less. 

There  was  need  ;  for  the  housekeeper  went  on  to  ask  particularly 
after  every  member  of  the  family,  and  where  they  had  been  living 
and  as  much  as  she  conveniently  could  about  how  they  had  beer 
living.  She  was  very  kind  through  it  all,  or  she  tried  to  be  ;  bu 
Fleda  felt  there  was  a  difference  since  the  time  when  her  aunt  kept 
house  in  State-street  and  Mrs.  Renney  made  jellies  for  her.  Wiien 
her  neighbors'  affairs  were  exhausted  Mrs.  Renney  fell  back  upon 
her  own,  and  gave  Fleda  a  very  circumstantial  account  of  the  oc 
currences  that  were  drawing  her  westward  ;  how  so  many  years  ago 
her  brother  had  married  and  removed  thither  ;  how  lately  his  wife 
had  died  ;  what,  in  general,  was  the  character  of  his  wife,  and 
what,  in  particular,  the  story  of  her  decease  ;  how  many  children 
were  left  without  care,  and  the  state  of  her  brother's  business  which 
demanded  a  great  deal  ;  and  how  finally,  she,  Mrs.  Renney,  had 
received  and  accepted  an  invitation  to  go  on  to  Belle  Riviere  and  be 
housekeeper  de  son  chef.  And  as  Fleda' s  pale  worn  face  had  for 
wme  time  given  her  no  sign  of  attention  the  housekeeper  thea 


456  QUEECHT. 

hoped  she  was  asleep,  and  placed  herself  so  as  to  screen  her  and 
have  herself  a  good  view  of  everything  that  was  going  on  in  the 
cabin. 

But  poor  Fleda  was  not  asleep,  much  as  she  rejoiced  in  being 
thought  so.  Mind  and  body  could  get  no  repose,  sadly  as  the  con 
ditions  of  both  called  for  it.  Too  worn  to  sleep,  perhaps  ; — too 
down-hearted  to  rest.  She  blamed  herself  for  it,  and  told  over  to 
herself  the  causes,  the  recent  causes,  she  had  of  joy  and  gratitude  ; 
but  it  would  not  do.  Grateful  she  could  be  and  was  ;  but  tears  thar 
•.eve  not  the  distillation  of  joy  came  with  her  gratitude  ;  came  fro;  I 
mder  the  closed  eyelid  in  spite  of  her  ;  the  pillow  was  wet  wi-  t 
.hern.  She  excused  herself,  or  tried  to,  with  thinking  that  she  was 
weak  and  not  very  well,  and  that  her  nerves  had  gone  through  so 
much  for  a  few  days  past  it  was  no  wonder  if  a  reaction  left  her 
without  her  usual  strength  of  mind.  And  she  could  not  help  think 
ing  there  had  been  a  want  of  kindness  in  the  Evelyns  to  let  her 
come  away  to-day  to  make  such  a  journey,  at  such  a  season,  under 
such  guardianship.  But  it  was  not  all  that  ;  she  knew  it  was  not. 
The  journey  was  a  small  matter ;  only  a  little  piece  of  disagreeable- 
ness  that  was  well  in  keeping  with  her  other  meditations.  She  was 
going  home  and  home  had  lost  all  its  fair-seeming  ;  its  honors  were 
withered.  It  would  be  pleasant  indeed  to  be  there  again  to  nurse 
Hugh  ;  but  nurse  him  for  what? — life  or  death? — she  did  not  like 
to  think  ;  and  beyond  that  she  could  fix  upon  nothing  at  all  that 
looked  bright  in  the  prospect;  she  almost  thought  herself  wicked, 
but  she  could  not.  If  she  might  hope  that  her  uncle  would  take 
hold  of  his  farm  like  a  man,  and  redeem  his  character  and  his 
family's  happiness  on  the  old  place, — that  would  have  heen  some 
thing  ;  but  he  had  declared  a  different  purpose,  and  Fieda  knew 
him  too  well  to  hope  that  he  would  be  better  than  his  word.  Then 
they  must  leave  the  old  homestead,  where  at  least  the  associations 
of  happiness  clung,  and  go  to  a  strange  land.  It  looked  desolate 
to  Fleda,  wherever  it  might  be.  Leave  Queechy  ! — that  she  loved 
unspeakably  beyond  any  other  place  in  the  world  ;  where  the  very 
hills  had  been  the  friends  of  her  childhood,  and  where  she  had  seen 
the  maples  grow  green  and  grow  red  through  as  many-colored 
changes  of  her  own  fortunes  ;  the  woods  where  the  shade  of  her 
Tandfather  walked  with  her  and  where  the  presence  even  of  her 

ither  could  be  brought  back  by  memory  ;  where  the  air  was 
Avceter  and  the  sunlight  brighter,  by  far,  than  in  any  other  place, 
fbr  both  had  some  strange  kindred  with  the  sunny  days  of  long  ago. 
Poor  Fleda  turned  her  face  from  Mrs.  Renney,  and  leaving  doubt 
ful  prospects  and  withering  comforts  for  a  while  as  it  were  out  of 
sight,  she  wept  the  fair  outlines  and  the  red  maples  of  Queechy  as 
if  they  had  been  all  she  had  to  regret.  They  had  never  disap 
pointed  her.  Their  countenance  had  comforted  her  many  a  time, 
under  many  a  sorrow.  After  all,  it  was  only  fancy  choosing  at 
which  shrine  the  whole  offering  of  sorrow  should  be  made.  She 
knew  that  many  of  the  tears  that  fell  were  due  to  some  other.  It 
was  in  vain  to  tell  herself  they  were  selfish ;  mind  and  body  were 
in  no  condition  to  struggle  with  anything. 
It  had  fallen  dark  some  time,  and  she  had  wept  and  sorrowed 


QUEECHY.  451 

herself  into  a  half-dozing  state,  when  a  few  words  spoken  neat 
aroused  her. 

"  It  is  snowing,"  —  was  said  by  several  voices. 

"  Going  very  slow,  ain't  we?  "  said  Fleda's  friend  in  a  suppressed 
voice. 

"Yes,  'cause  it's  so  dark,  you  see  ;  the  Captain  dursn't  let  her 
run." 

Some  poor  witticism  followed  from  a  third  party  about  the  '  But" 
terfly's'  having  run  herself  off  her  legs  the  first  time  she  ever  rar, 
at  all  ;  and  then  Mrs.  Renney  went  on. 

"  is  the  storm  so  bad,  Hannah  ?  " 

"  Pretty  thick  —  can't  see  far  ahead  —  I  hope  well  make  out  to  fin*.. 
our  way  in  —  that's  all  /  care  for." 

"  How  far  are  we  ?  " 

"  Not  half  way  yet  —  I  don't  know  —  depends  on  what  headway 
we  make,  you  know  ;  —  there  ain't  much  wind  yet,  that's  a  good 
thing." 

"  There  ain't  any  danger,  is  there  ?  " 

This  of  course  the  chambermaid  denied,  and  a  whispered  collo 
quy  followed  which  Fleda  did  not  try  to  catch.  A  new  feeling 
come  upon  her  weary  heart,  —  a  feeling  of  fear.  There  was  a  sad 
twinge  of  a  wish  that  she  were  out  of  the  boat  and  safe  back  again 
with  the  Evelyns,  and  a  fresh  sense  of  the  unkindness  of  letting  her 
come  away  that  afternoon  so  attended.  And  then  with  that  sick 
ness  of  heart  the  forlorn  feeling  of  being  alone,  of  wanting  some 
one  at  hand  to  depend  upon,  to  look  to.  It  is  true  that  in  case  of 
real  danger  none  such  could  be  a  real  protection,  —  and  yet  not  so 
neither,  for  strength  and  decision  can  live  and  make  live  where  a 
moment's  faltering  will  kill  ;  and  weakness  must  often  falter  of 
necessity.  "  All  the  ways  of  the  Lord  are  mercy  and  truth  "  to  his 
people  ;  she  thought  of  that,  and  yet  she  feared,  for  his  ways  are 
often  what  we  do  not  like.  A  few  moments  of  sick-heartedness  and 
trembling,  —  and  then  Fleda  mentally  folded  her  arms  about  a  few 
other  words  of  the  Bible  and  laid  her  head  clown  in  quiet  again.  — 
ts  The  Lord  is  my  refuge  and  my  fortress  ;  my  God  ;  in  Him  will  / 


And  then  what  comes  after,  — 

"  He  shall  cover  thee  with  his  feathers,  and  under  his  wing*. 
lhalt  thou  trust  ;  his  truth  shall  be  thy  shield  and  buckler* 

Fleda  lay  quiet  till  she  was  called  to  tea. 

:'  Bless  me,  how  pale  you  are  !  "  said  the  housekeeper,  as  Fled*. 
Vaised  herself  up  at  this  summons,  —  "do  you  feel  very  bad  Miss 
Fleda?" 

Fleda  said  no. 

"  Are  you  frightened  ?  "  said  the  housekeeper  ;  —  "  there's  no  need 
of  that  —  Hannah  says  there's  no  need  —  we'll  be  in  by  and  by." 

"  No,  Mrs.  Renney,"  said  Fleda  Smiling.  "  I  believe  I  am  not 
very  strong  yet." 

The  housekeeper  and  Hannah  both  looked  at  her  with  strangely 
touched  faces,  and  again  begged  her  to  try  the  refreshment  of  tea. 
But  Fleda  would  not  go  down,  so  they  served  her  up  there,  with 
great  zeal  and  tenderness.  And  then  she  waited  patiently  and 
watched  the  people  in  the  cabin,  as  they  sat  gossiping  in  groups  or 


468 

stupefying  in  solitude  ;  and  thought  how  miserable  a  thing  »s  exist* 
ence  where  religion  and  refinement  have  not  taught  the  mind  to 
live  in  somewhat  beyond  and  above  its  every-day  concerns. 

Late  at  night  the  boat  arrived  safe  at  Bridgeport.  Mrs.  Renney 
and  Fleda  had  resolved  to  stay  on  board  till  morning,  when  the 
former  promised  to  take  her  to  the  house  of  a  sister  she  had  living 
in  the  town  ;  as  the  cars  would  not  leave  the  place  till  near  eleven 
o'clock.  Rest  was  not  to  be  hoped  for  meantime  in  the  boat,  on 
the  miserable  coach  which  was  the  best  the  cabin  could  furnish  j 
but  Fleda  was  so  thankful  to  have  finished  the  voyage  in  safety 
hat  she  took  thankfully  everything  else,  even  lying  awake.  It  was 
3.  wild  night.  The  wind  rose  soon  after  they  reached  Bridgeport, 
and  swept  furiously  over  the  boat,  rattling  the  tiller  chains  and  mak 
ing;  Fleda  so  nervously  alive  to  possibilities  that  she  got  up  two  or 
three  times  to  see  if  the  boat  were  fast  to  her  moorings.  It  was 
very  dark,  and  only  by  a  fortunately  placed  lantern  she  could  see  a 
bit  of  the  dark  wharf  and  one  of  the  posts  belonging  to  it,  from 
which  the  lantern  never  budged  ;  so  at  last,  quieted  or  tired  out, 
nature  had  her  rights,  and  she  slept. 

It  was  not  refreshing  rest  after  all,  and  Fleda  was  very  glad  that 
Mrs.  Renney's  impatience  for  something  comfortable  made  her  will 
ing  to  be  astir  as  early  as  there  was  any  chance  of  finding  people  up 
in  the  town. ,  Few  were  abroad  when  they  left  the  boat,  they  two. 
Not  a  foot  had  printed  the  deep  layer  of  snow  that  coyered  the 
wharf.  It  had  fallen  thick  during  the  night.  Just  then  it  was  not 
snowing  ;  the  clouds  seemed  to  have  taken  a  recess,  for  they  hung 
threatening  yet  ;  one  uniform  leaden  canopy  was  over  the  whole 
horizon. 

"  The  snow  ain't  done  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Renney. 

"  No,  but  the  worst  of  our  journey  is  over,"  said  Fleda.  "  I  am 
glad  to  be  on  the  land." 

"  I  hope  we'll  get  something  to  eat  here,"  said  Mrs.  Renney  as 
they  stepped  along  over  the  wharf.  "  They  ought  to  be  ashamed 
to  give  people  such  a  mess,  when  it's  just  as  easy  to  have  things 
decent.  My  !  how  it  has  snowed.  I  declare,  if  I'd  ha'  waited  till 
somebody  had  tracked  a  path  for  us.  But  I  guess  it's  just  as  well 
we  didn't, — you  look  as  like  a  ghost  as  you  can,  Miss  Fleda. 
You'll  be  better  when  you  get  some  breakfast.  You'd  better  catch 
on  to  my  arm — I'll  waken  up  the  seven  sleepers  but  what  I'll  have 
;omething  to  put  life  into  you  directly." 

Flecte.  thanked  her  but  declined  the  proffered  accomodation,  and 
followed  her  companion  in  the  narrow  beaten  path  a  few  travelers 
had  made  in  the  street,  feeling  enough  like  a  ghost,  if  want  of  flesh 
and  blood  reality  were  enough.  It  seemed  a  dream  that  she  was 
walking  through  the  grey  light  and  the  empty  streets  of  the  little 
town  ;  everything  looked  and  felt  so  wild  and  strange. 

If  it  was  a  dream  she  was  soon  waked  out  of  it.  In  the  house 
where  they  were  presently  received  and  established  in  sufficient 
comfort,  there  was  such  a  little  specimen  of  masculine  humanity  as 
never  showed  his  face  in  dream  land  yet  ;  a  little  bit  of  reality 
enough  to  bring  any  dreamer  to  his  senses.  He  seemed  to  have 
been  brought  up  on  stove  heat,  for  he  was  all  glowing  yet  from  a 
warm  bed  he  had  just  tumbled  out  of  somewhere*  and  he 


QUEECHY,  459 

looked  at  the  pale  thin  stranger  by  his  mother's  fireplace  as  if  she 
were  an  anomaly  in  the  comfortable  world.  If  he  could  have  con« 
tented  himself  with  looking  ! — but  he  planted  himself  firmly  on  the 
rug  just  two  feet  from  Fleda,  and  with  a  laudable  and  most  persist 
ent  desire  to  examine  into  the  cause  of  what  he  could  not  under 
stand  he  commenced  inquiring. 

"  Are  you  cold  ? — say  !  Are  you  cold? — say  !  " — in  a  tone  most 
provokingly  made  up  of  wonder  and  dulness.  In  vain  Fleda  an 
swered  him,  that  she  was  not  very  cold  and  would  soon  not  be  cole 
at  all  by  that  good  fire  ; — the  question  came  again,  apparently  i.« 
all  its  freshness,  from  the  interrogator's  mind, — 

"  Are  you  cold  ? — say  ! — " 

And  silence  and  words,  looking  grave  and  laughing,  were  alike 
thrown  away.  Fleda  shut  her  eyes  at  length  and  used  the  small 
remnant  of  her  patience  to  keep  herself  quiet  till  she  was  called  to 
breakfast.  After  breakfast  she  accepted  the  offer  of  her  hostess  to 
go  up-stairs  and  lie  down  till  the  cars  were  ready  ;  and  there  got 
some  real  and  much  needed  refreshment  of  sleep  and  rest. 

It  lasted  longer  than  she  had  counted  upon.  For  the  cars  were 
not  ready  at  eleven  o'clock  ;  the  snow  last  night  had  occasioned 
some  perplexing  delays.  It  was  not  till  near  three  o'clock  that  the 
often-despatched  messenger  to  the  depot  brought  back  word  that 
they  might  go  as  soon  as  they  pleased.  It  pleased  Mrs.  Renney 
to  be  in  a  great  hurry,  for  her  baggage  was  in  the  cars  she  said,  and 
it  would  be  dreadful  if  she  and  it  went  different  ways  ;  so  Fleda  and 
her  companion  hastened  down  to  the  station-house  and  chose  their 
places  some  time  before  anybody  else  thought  of  coming.  They 
had  a  long  and  very  tiresome  waiting  to  go  through,  and  room  for 
some  uneasy  speculations  about  being  belated  and  a  night  journey. 
But  Fleda  was  stronger  now,  and  bore  it  all  with  her  usual  patient 
submission.  At  length,  by  degrees  the  people  dropped  in  and  filled 
the  cars,  and  they  set  off. 

"  How  early  do  you  suppose  we  shall  reach  Greenfield?"  said 
Fleda. 

14  Why  we  ought  to  get  there  between  nine  and  ten  o'clock,  I 
should  think,"  said  her  companion.  I  hope  the  snow  will  hold  up 
till  we  get  there." 

Fleda  thought  it  a  hope  very  unlikely  to  be  fulfilled.  There  war 
as  yet  no  snow-flakes  to  be  seen  near  by,  but  at  a  little  distance  tlu 
2ow  clouds  seemed  already  to  enshroud  every  clump  of  trees  anc 
put  a  mist  about  every  hill.  They  surely  would  descend  more 
palpably  soon. 

It  was  pleasant  to  be  moving  swiftly  on  again  toward  the  end  of 
their  journey,  if  Fleda  could  have  rid  herself  of  some  qualms  about 
the. possible  storm  and  the  certain  darkness  ;  they  might  not  reach 
Greenfield  by  ten  o'clock  ;  and  she  disliked  traveling  in  the  night 
at  any  time.  But  she  could  do  nothing,  and  she  resigned  herself 
anew  to  the  comfort  and  trust  she  had  built  upon  last  night.  She 
had  the  seat  next  the  window,  and  with  a  v^ry  sober  kind  of 
pleasure  watched  the  pretty  landscape  they  were  flitting  by-  mis-y 
as  her  own  prospects, — darkening  as  they  ? — no,  she  \\  oi;!<l  i  •  t 
allow  that  thought.  '  "  Surely  I  know  that  it  shall  be  well  with  U.eru 
that  fear  God  ; '  and  I  can  trust  him."  And  she  found  a  strange 


460  QUEECHY. 

sweetness  in  that  naked  trust  and  clinging  of  faith,  that  faith  rievef 
tried  never  knows.  But  the  breath  of  daylight  was  already  gone, 
though  the  universal  spread  of  snow  gave  the  eye  a  fair  range  yet, 
white,  white,  as  far  as  the  view  could  reach,  with  that  light  misty 
drapery  round  everything  in  the  distance  and  merging  into  the  soft 
grey  sky  ;  and  every  now  and  then  as  the  wind  served,  a  thick 
wreath  of  white  vapor  came  by  from  the  engine  and  hid  all,  eddy 
ing  past  the  windows  and  then  skimming  off  away  over  the  snowy- 
ground  from  which  it  would  not  lift ;  a  more  palpable  veil  for  a  mo 
ment  of  the  distant  things, — and  then  broken,  scattered  fragmentary 
.ovely  in  its  frailty  and  evanishing.  It  was  a  pretty  afternoon,  bv-« 
a  sober  ;  and  the  bare  black  solitary  trees  near  hand  which  the  cars 
flew  by,  looked  to  Fleda  constantly  like  fingerposts  of  the  past ;  and 
back  at  their  bidding  her  thoughts  and  her  spirits  went,  back  and 
forward,  comparing,  in  her  own  mental  view,  what  had  once  been 
so  gay  and  genial  with  its  present  bleak  and  chill  condition.  And 
from  this,  in  sudden  contrast,  came  a  strangely  fair  and  bright 
image  of  Heaven — its  exchange  of  peace  for  all  this  turmoil, — of 
rest  for  all  this  weary  bearing  up  of  mind  and  body  against  the  ills 
that  beset  both, — of  its  quiet  home  for  this  unstable  strange  world 
where  nothing  is  at  a  standstill  — of  perfect  and  pure  society  for  the 
unsatisfactory  and  wearying  "friendships  that  the  most  are  here. 
The  thought  came  to  Fleda  like  one  of  those  unearthly  clear  North 
western  skies  from  which  a  storm  cloud  has  rolled  away,  that  seem 
almost  to  mock  Earth  with  their  distance  from  its  defilement  and 
and  agitations.  "  Truly  I  know  that  it  shall  be  well  with  them  that 
fear  God  !  " — She  could  remember  Hugh, — she  could  not  think  of 
the  words  without  him, — and  yet  say  them  with  the  full  bounding 
assurance.  And  in  that  weary  and  uneasy  afternoon  her  mind 
rested  and  delighted  itself  with  two  lines  of  George  Herbert,  that 
only  a  Christian  can  well  understand, —  t 

"  Thy  power  and  love, — my  love  and  trust, 
Make  one  place  everywhere." 

But  the  night  fell,  and  Fleda  at  last  could  see  nothing  but  the 
<fim  rail  fences  they  were  flying  by,  and  the  reflection  from  some 
stationary  lantern  on  the  engine  or  one  of  the  forward  cars,  that 
ilways  threw  a  bright  spot  of  light  on  the  snow.  Still  she  kept  he? 
•yes  fastened  out  of  the  window ;  anything  but  the  view  inloa~':t. 
They  were  going  slowly  now,  and  frequently  stopping  ;  foi 
were  out  of  time,  and  some  other  trains  were  to  be  looked  lor. 
Nervous  work  ;  and  whenever  they  stopped  the  voices  which  at 
other  times  were  happily  drowned  in  the  rolling  of  the  car-wheels, 
rose  and  jarred  in  discords  far  less  endurable.  Fleda  shut  her  ears 
to  the  words,  but  it  was  easy  enough  without  words  to  understand 
the  indications  of  coarse  and  disagreeable  natures  in  whose  neigh 
borhood  she  disliked  to  find  herself;  of  whose  neighborhood  she 
exceedingly  disliked  to  be  reminded.  The  muttered  oath,  the  more 
than  muttered  jest,  the  various  laughs  that  tell  so  much  of  head  01 
heart  emptiness, — the  shadowy  but  sure  tokens  of  that  in  human 
nature  which  one  would  not  realize  and  which  one  strives  to  forget; 
Fleda  shrank  within  herself  and  would  gladly  have  stopped  hef 


QUEECKV.  4f1 

ears  ;  did  spmetimcs  covertly.  Oh  if  home  could  be  but  reached, 
and  she  out  of  this  atmosphere  !  how  well  she  resolved  tnat  never 
another  time,  by  any  motive,  of  delicacy  or  otherwise,  she  would  be 
tempted  to  trust  herself  in  the  like  again  without  more  than  womanly 
protection.  The  hours  rolled  wearily  on  ;  they  heard  nothing  of 
Greenfield  yet. 

They  came  at  length  to  a  more  obstinate  stop  than  usual.  Fleda 
took  her  hands  from  her  ears  to  ask  what  was  the  matter. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Renney.  "  I  hope  they  won't  keep 
;s  a  great  while  waiting  here." 

The  door  swung  open  and  the  red  comforter  and  tarpaulin  hat  of 
one  of  the  brakemen  showed  itself  a  moment.  Presently  after 
14  Can't  get  on" — was  repeated  by  several  voices  in  the  various 
tones  of  assertion,  interrogation,  and  impatience.  The  women  folks, 
having  nobody  to  ask  questions  of,  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  be  quiet 
and  use  their  ears. 

"  Can't  get  on  !  "  said  another  man  coming  in, — •'  there's  noth« 
ing  but  snow  out  o'  doors — track's  all  foul." 

A  number  of  people  instantly  rushed  out  to  see. 

"  Can't  get  on  any  further  to-night?  "  asked  a  quiet  old  gentle 
man  of  the  news-bringer. 

"  Not  another  inch,  sir  ; — worse  off  than  old  Dobbs  was  in 
the  mill-pond. — we've  got  half  way  but  we  can't  turn  and  go 
back." 

"And  what  are  we  going  to  do?"  said  an  unhappy  wight  not 
quick  in  drawing  conclusions. 

"  I  s'pose  we'll  all  be  stiff  by  the  morning,"  answered  the  other 
gravely, — "  unless  the  wood  holds  out,  which  ain't  likely." 

How  much  there  is  in  even  a  cheery  tone  of  voice.  Fleda  was 
sorry  when  this  man  took  his  away  with  him.  There  was  a  most 
uncheering  confusion  of  tongues  for  a  few  minutes  among  the  peo 
ple  he  had  left,  and  then  the  car  was  near  deserted  ;  everybody  went 
out  to  bring  his  own  wits  to  bear  upon  the  obstacles  in  the  way  of 
their  progress,  Mrs.  Renny  observed  that  she  might  as  well 
warm  her  feet  while  she  could,  and  went  to  the  stove  for  the  pur 
pose. 

Poor  Fleda  felt  as  if  she  had  no  heart  left.  She  sat  still  in  he** 
place  and  leaned  her  head  upon  the  back  of  the  deserted  chair  be- 
ore  her,  in  utter  inability  to  keep  it  up.  The  night  journey  was  bad 
enough,  but  this  was  more  than  she  had  counted  upon.  Danger,  to 
be  sure,  there  might  be  none  in  standing  still  there  all  night,  unless 
perhaps  the  danger  of  death  from  the  cold  ; — she  had  heard  of  such 
things  ; — but  to  sit  there  fill  morning  among  all  those  people  and 
obliged  to  hear  their  unloosed  tongues,— Fleda  felt  almost  that  she 
could  not  bear  it, — a  most  forlorn  feeling,  with  which  came  anew  a 
keen  reflection  upon  the  Evelyns  for  having  permitted  her  to  run 
even  the  hazard  of  such  trouble.  And  in  the  morning,  if  well  it 
came,  who  would  take  care  of  them  in  all  the  subsequent  annoyance 
and  difficulty  of  getting  out  of  the  snow  ? — 

It  must  have  taken  very  little  time  for  these  thoughts  to  run 
through  her  head,  for  half  a  minute  had  not  flown  when  the  vacant 
scat  beside  her  was  occupied  and  a  hand  softly  touched  one  oi  hen 


4«2  QUEECHY. 

which  lay  in  her  lap.     Fleda  started  up  in  terror, — to  nave  the  hand 
Jaken  and  her  eye  met  by  Mr.  Carleton. 

"  Mr.  Carleton  ! — O  sir,  how  glad  1  am  to  see  you  !  "—was  said 
by  an  eye  and  cheek  as  unmistakably  as  by  word. 

"  Have  you  come  from  the  clouds  ?  " 

"  I  might  rathe;  ask  that  question  of  you,"  said  he  smiling. 
•'  You  have  been  invisible  ever  since  the  night  when  I  had  the  honoi 
of  playing  the  part  of  your  physician." 

"  I  could  not  help  it,  sir, — I  was  sure  you  would  believe  it.  ! 
wanted  exceedingly  to  see  you  and  to  thank  you — as  well  as  I  coult 
—but  I  was  obliged  to  leave  it — " 

She  could  hardly  say  so  much.  Her  swimming  eye  gave  him 
more  thanks  than  he  wanted.  But  she  scolded  herself  vigorously 
and  after  a  few  minutes  was  able  to  look  and  speak  again. 

"  I  hoped  you  would  not  think  me  ungrateful,  sir,  but  in  case  yoc 
might,  I  wrote  to  let  you  know  that  you  were  mistaken." 

"  You  wrote  to  me  !  "  said  he. 

"  Yes  sir — yesterday  morning — at  least  it  was  put  in  the  post  yes 
terday  morning." 

"  It  was  more  unnecessary  than  you  are  aware  of,"  he  said  witl 
a  smile  and  turning  one  of  his  deep  looks  away  from  her. 

"Are  we  fast  here  for  all  night,  Mr.  Carleton?"  she  said  pres 
ently. 

"  I  am  afraid  so — I  believe  so — I  have  been  out  to  examine  am 
the  storm  is  very  thick." 

"  You  need  not  look  so  about  it  for  me,"  said  Fleda  ; — '"I  don\ 
care  for  it  at  all  now." 

And  a  long-drawn  breath  half  told  how  much  she  had  cared  fo» 
it,  and  what  a  burden  was  gone. 

"  You  look  very  little  like  breasting  hardships,"  said  Mr.  Carle 
ton,  bending  on  her  so  exactly  the  look  of  affectionate  care  that  sht 
had  often  had  from  him  when  she  was  a  child,  that  Fleda  was  very 
near  overcome  again. 

"O  you  know,"  she  said,  speaking  by  dint  of  great  force  upor 
herself, — "  you  know  the  will  is  everything,  and  mine  is  very 
good — " 

But  he  looked  extremely  unconvinced  and  unsatisfied. 

•'  I  am  so  comforted  to  see  you  sitting  there,  sir,"  Fleda  went  on 
gratefully, — "that  I  am  sure  I  can  bear  patiently  all  the  rest." 

His  eye  turned  away  and  she  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  his, 
gravity.  But  a  moment  after  he  looked  again  and  spoke  with  hi? 
usual  manner. 

"  That  business  you  entrusted  to  me,"  he  said  in  a  lower  tone,— 
••  I  believe  you  will  have  no  more  trouble  with  it." 

"So  I  thought! — so  I  gathered — the  other  night, —  '  said  Fleda, 
her  heart  and  her  face  suddenly  full  of  many  things. 

"The  note  was  given  up — I  saw  it  burned." 

Fleda's  two  hands  clasped  each  other  mutely. 

••  And  will  he  be  silent  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  will  choose  to  be  so — for  his  own  sake." 

The  only  sake  that  would  avail  in  that  quarter,  Fleda  knew 
How  had  Mr.  Carleton  ever  managed  it ! 

••And  Charlton ? "  she  said  after  a  few  minutes'  tearful 


QUEECHY.  463 

••I  had  the  pleasure  of  Capt.  Rossitur's  company  to  breakfast, 
the  next  morning, — and  I  am  happy  to  report  that  there  is  no  dan 
ger  of  any  trouble  arising  there." 

"  How  shall  I  ever  thank  you,  sir  !  "  said  Fleda  with  trembling 
lips. 

His  smile  was  so  peculiar  she  almost  thought  he  was  going  to  tell 
her.  But  just  then  Mrs.  Renney  having  accomplished  the  desir 
able  temperature  of  her  feet,  came  back  to  warm  her  £ars,  and 
placed  herself  on  the  next  seat ;  happily  not  the  one  behind  but 
;he  one  before  them,  where  her  eyes  were  thrown  away  ;  and  the 
ines  of  Mr.  Carleton' s  mouth  came  back  to  their  usual  quiet  ex- 
Dression. 

"  You  were  in  particular  haste  to  reach  home?" 

Fleda  said  no,  not  in  the  abstract ;  it  made  no  difference  whether 
to-day  or  to-morrow. 

"  You  have  heard  no  ill  news  of  your  cousin?" 

"Not  at  all,  but  it  is  difficult  to  find  an  opportunity  of  making 
the  journey,  and  I  thought  I  ought  to  come  yesterday." 

He  was  silent  again  ;  and  the  baffled  seekers  after  ways  and 
means  who  had  gone  out  to  try  arguments  upon  the  storm,  began  to 
come  pouring  back  into  the  car.  And  bringing  with  them  not  only 
their  loud  and  coarse  voices  with  every  shade  of  disagreeableness 
aggravated  by  ill-humor,  but  also  an  average  amount  of  snow  upon 
their  hats  and  shoulders,  the  place  was  soon  full  of  a  reeking  at 
mosphere  of  great  coats.  Fleda  was  trying  to  put  up  her  window, 
but  Mr.  Carleton  gently  stopped  her  and  began  bargaining  with  a 
neighboring  fellow-traveler  for  the  opening  of  his. 

"  Well  sir,  I'll  open  it  if  you  wish  it,"  said  the  man  civilly,  "  but 
they  say  we  sha'n't  have  nothing  to  make  fires  with  more  than  an 
hour  or  two  longer; — so  maybe  you'll  think  we  can't  afford  to  let 
any  too  much  cold  in." 

The  gentleman  however  persisting  in  his  wish  and  the  wish  being 
moreover  backed  with  those  arguments  to  which  every  grade  of 
human  reason  is  accessible,  the  window  was  opened.  At  first  the 
rush  of  fresh  air  was  a  great  relief;  but  it  was  not  very  long  before 
the  raw  snowy  atmosphere  which  made  its  way  in  was  felt  to  be 
more  dangerous,  if  it  was  more  endurable,  than  the  close  pent-up 
}ne  it  displaced.  Mr.  Carleton  ordered  the  window  closed  again ; 
ind  Fleda' s  glance  of  meek  grateful  patience  was  enough  to  pay 
my  reasonable  man  for  his  share  of  the  suffering.  Her  share  of  it 
A-as  another  matter.  Perhaps  Mr.  Carleton  thought  so,  for  he  im 
mediately  bent  himself  to  reward  her  and  to  avert  the  evil,  and  for 
that  purpose  brought  into  play  every  talent  of  manner  and  conver 
sation  that  could  beguile  the  time  and  make  her  forget  what  she 
was  among.  If  success  were  his  reward  he  had  it.  He  withdrew 
her  attention  completely  from  all  that  was  around  her,  and  without 
tasking  it ;  she  could  not  have  borne  that.  He  did  not  seem  to 
task  himself;  but  without  making  any  exertion  he  held  her  eye  and 
ear  and  guarded  both  from  communication  with  things  disagree 
able.  He  knew  it.  There  was  not  a  change  in  her  eye's  happy  in 
terest,  till  in  the  course  of  the  conversation  Fleda  happened  to 
mention  Hugh,  and  he  noticed  the  saddening  of  the  eye  imme 
diately  afterward. 


164  QUEECUT. 

"  Is  he  ill  ?  "  said  Mr.  Carleton. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Fleda  faltering  a  little, — "  he  was  not— •• 
very, — but  a  few  weeks  ago — " 

Her  eye  explained  the  broken  sentences  which  therein  the  neigh, 
borhood  of  others  she  dared  not  finish. 

"  He  will  be  better  after  he  has  seen  you,"  said  Mr.  Carletoa 
gently. 

"  Yes—" 

A  very  sorrowful  and  uncertain  "yes,"  with  an  "if1'  in  the 
speaker's  mind  which  she  did  not  bring  out. 

"  Can  you  sing  your  old  song  yet, — "  Jaid  Mr.  Carleton  softly,— 

" « Yet  one  thing  secures  us, 
Whatever  betide?'" 

But  Fleda  burst  into  tears. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  whispered  earnestly, — "  for  reminding  you  of 
that, — you  did  not  need,  and  I  have  only  troubled  you." 

"  No  sir,  you  have  not,"  said  Fleda, — "it  did  not  trouble  me — 
and  Hugh  knows  it  better  than  I  do.  I  cannot  bear  anything  to 
night,  I  believe — " 

"  So  you  have  remembered  that,  Mr.  Carleton?  "  she  said  a  min 
ute  after. 

"Do  you  remember  that  ?"  said  he,  putting  her  old  little  bible 
into  her  hand. 

Fleda  seized  it,  but  she  could  hardly  bear  the  throng  of  images 
that  started  up  around  it.  The  smooth  worn  cover  brought  so  back 
the  childish  happy  days  when  it  had  been  her  constant  companion 
—the  shadows  of  the  Queechy  of  old,  and  Cynthia  and  her  grand 
father  ;  and  the  very  atmosphere  of  those  times  when  she  had  led  a 
light-hearted  strange  wild  life  all  alone  with  them,  reading  the  En 
cyclopaedia  and  hunting  out  the  wood-springs.  She  opened  the 
book  and  slowly  turned  over  the  leaves  where  her  father's  hand  had 
drawn  those  lines,  of  remark  and  affection,  round  many  a  passage, 
— the  very  look  of  them  she  knew  ;  but  she  could  not  see  it  now, 
for  her  eyes  were  dim  and  tears  were  dropping  fast  into  her  lap, — 
she  hoped  Mr.  Carleton  did  not  see  them,  but  she  could  not  help  it ; 
she  could  only  keep  the  book  out  of  the  way  of  being  blotted.  And 
there  were  other  and  later  associations  she  had  with  it  too, — how 
dear  ! — how  tender  ! — how  grateful ! 

Mr.  Carleton  was  quite  silent  for  a  good  while — till  the  tears  hac 
ceased  ;  then  he  bent  toward  her  so  as  to  be  heard  no  further  off, 

•"  It  has  been  for  many  years  my  best  friend  and  companion,"  he 
<&\d  in  a  low  tone. 

Fleda  could  make  no  answer,  even  by  look. 

"  At  first,"  he  went  on  softly,  "  I  had  a  strong  association  of  you 
with  it ;  but  the  time  came  when  I  lost  that  entirely,  and  itself 
quite  swallowed  up  the  thought  of  the  giver." 

A  quick  glance  and  smile  to!3  how  well  Fleda  understood,  how 
heartily  she  was  pleased  with  that.  But  she  instantly  looked  away 
again. 

"  And  now,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  after  a  pause, — "for  some  time 
past,  I  have  got  the  association  again  ;  and  I  do  not  choose  to  havt 


QUEECEY.  46fl 

tt  so.  *  have  come  to  the  resolution  to  put  the  book  back  into  youf 
hands  and  not  receive  it  again,  unless  the  giver  go  with  the 
gift." 

Fleda  looked  up,  a  startled  look  of  wonder,  into  his  face,  but 
the  dark  eye  left  no  doubt  cf  the  meaning  of  his  words  ;  and  in  un 
bounded  confusion  she  turned  her  own  and  her  attention,  ostensibly, 
to  the  book  in  her  hand,  though  sight  and  sense  were  almost  equally 
out  of  her  power.  For  a  few  minutes  poor  Fleda  felt  as  if  all  sen 
sation  had  retreated  to  her  finger-ends.  She  turned  the  leaves  ovef 
•*nd  over,  as  if  willing  to  cheat  herself  or  her  companion  into  the 
>clief  that  she  had  something  to  think  of  there,  while  associations 
ind  images  of  the  past  were  gone  with  a  vengeance,  swallowed  up 
in  a  tremendous  reality  of  the  present ;  and  the  book,  which  a  min* 
ute  ago  was  her  father's  bible,  was  now — what  was  it? — something 
%)  Mr.  Carleton's  which  she  must  give  back  to  him.  But  still  she 
held  it  and  looked  at  it — conscious  of  no  one  distinct  idea  but  that, 
and  a  faint  one  besides  that  he  might  like  to  be  repossessed  of  his 
property  in  some  reasonable  time — time  like  everything  else  was  in 
a  whirl ;  the  only  steady  thing  in  creation  seemed  to  be  that  per 
fectly  still  and  moveless  figure  by  her  side — till  her  trembling  fin 
gers  admonished  her  they  would  not  be  able  to  hold  anything  much 
longer  ;  and  gently  and  slowly,  without  looking,  her  hand  put  the 
book  back  toward  Mr.  Carleton.  That  both  were  detained  together 
she  knew  but  hardly  felt ; — the  thing  was  that  she  had  given  it  ! — 

There  was  no  other  answer ;  and  there  was  no  further  need  that 
Mr.  Carleton  should  make  any  efforts  for  diverting  her  from  the 
scene  and  the  circumstances  where  they  were.  Probably  he  knew 
that,  for  he  made  none.  He  was  perfectly  silent  for  a  long  time, 
and  Fleda  was  deaf  to  any  other  voice  that  could  be  raised,  near  or 
far.  She  could  not  even  think. 

Mrs.  Renney  was  happily  snoring,  and  most  of  the  other  people 
had  descended  into  their  coat  collars,  or  figuratively  speaking  had 
•lowered  their  blinds,  by  tilting  over  their  hats  in  some  uncomfort 
able  position  that  signified  sleep;  and  comparative  quiet  had  blessed 
the  place  for  some  time  ;  as  little  noticed  indeed  by  Fleda  as  noise 
would  have  been.  The  sole  thing  that  she  clearly  recognized  in 
connection  with  the  exterior  world  was  that  clasp  in  which  one  of 
her  hands  lay.  She  did  not  know  that  the  car  had  grown  quiet,  an<J 
that  only  an  occassional  grunt  of  ill-humor,  or  waking-up  colloquy, 
testified  that  it  was  the  unwonted  domicile  of  a  number  of  human 
beings  who  were  harboring  there  in  a  disturbed  state  of  mind.  But 
this  state  of  things  could  not  last.  The  time  came  that  had  been 
threatened,  when  their  last  supply  of  extrinsic  warmth  was  at  an  end. 
Despite  shut  windows,  the  darkening  of  the  stove  was  presently  fol 
lowed  by  a  very  sensible  and  fast-increasing  change  of  temperature  ; 
and  this  addition  to  their  causes  of  discomfort  roused  everyone  of 
the  company  from  his  temporary  lethargy.  The  growl  of  dissatis- 
led  voices  awoke  again,  more  gruff  than  before  ;the  spirit  of  jesting 
had  long  languished  and  now  died  outright,  and  in  its  stead  came 
some  low  and  deep  and  bitter-spoken  curses.  Poor  Mrs.  Renney 
shook  off  her  somnolency  and  shook  her  shoulders,  a  little  business 
shake,  admonitory  to  herself  to  keep  cool ;  and  Fleda  came  to  the 
30 


«66  QUEECRY. 

consciousness  that  some  very  disagreeable  chills  were  making  thek 
ivay  over  her. 

"Are  you  warm  enough?  "  said  Mr.  Carleton  suddenly,  turning 
Jo  her. 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Fleda  hesitating. — "  I  feel  the  cold  a  little. 
Please  don't,  Mr.  Carleton! — "  she  added  earnestly  as  she  saw  him 
preparing  to  throw  off  his  cloak,  the' identical  black  fox  which  Con 
stance  had  described  with  so  much  vivacity  ; — "  pray  do  not !  I  am 
not  very  cold — I  can  bear  a  little — I  am  not  so  tender  as  you  think 
Tie  ;  I  do  not  need  it,  and  you  would  feel  the  want  very  much  afte: 
/earing  it.--I  won't  put  it  on." 

But  he  smilingly  bade  her  "  stand  up,"  stooping  down  and  taking 
one  of  her  hands  to  enforce  his  words,  and  giving  her  at  the 
same  time  the  benefit  of  one  of  those  looks  of  good-humored  wilful- 
ness  to  which  his  mother  always  yielded,  and  to  which  Fleda 
yielded  instantly,  though  with  a  color  considerably  heightened  at 
the  slight  touch  of  peremptoriness  in  his  tone. 

"  You  are  not  offended  with  me,  Elfie  ?  "  he  said  in  another  man 
ner,  when  she  had  sat  down  again  and  he  was  arranging  the  heavy 
folds  of  the  cloak. 

Offended  ! — A  glance  answered. 

"  You  shall  have  everything  your  own  way,"  he  whispered 
gently,  as  he  stooped  down  to  bring  the  cloak  under  her  feet, — "  ex 
cept  yourself  " 

What  good  good  care  should  be  taken  of  that  exception  was  said 
in  the  dark  eye  at  which  Fleda  hardly  ventured  half  a  glance.  She 
had  much  ado  to  command  herself. 

She  was  shielded  again  from  all  the  sights  and  sounds  within 
reach.  She  was  in  a  maze.  The  comfort  of  the  fur  cloak  was  curi 
ously  mixed  with  the  feeling  of  something  else,  of  which  that  was  an 
emblem, — a  surrounding  of  care  and  strength  which  would  effectu 
ally  be  exerted  for  her  protection, — somewhat  that  Fleda  had  not 
known  for  many  a  long  day,- — the  making  up  of  the  old  want. 
Fleda  had  it  in  her  heart  to  cry  like  a  baby.  Such  a  dash  of  sun 
light  had  fallen  at  her  feet  that  she  hardly  dared  look  at  it  for  fear  of 
being  dazzled  ;  but  she  could  not  look  anywhere  that  she  did  not  see 
the  reflection. 

In  the  mean  time  the  car-ful  of  people  settled  again  into  sullen 
quietude.  The  cold  was  not  found  propitious  to  quarreling.  Those 
who  could  subsided  anew  into  lethargy  ;  those  who  could  not  gath* 
ired  in  their  outposts  to  make  the  best  defence  they  might  of  the 
citadel.  Most  happily  it  was  not  an  extreme  night  ;  cold  enough  to 
be  very  disagreeable  and  even  (without  a  fur  cloak)  dangerous;  but 
not  enough  to  put  even  noses  and  ears  in  immediate  jeopardy.  Mr. 
Carleton  had  contrived  to  procure  a  comfortable  wrapper  for  Mrs. 
Renney  from  a  Yankee  who  for  the  sake  of  being  "  a  warm  man  " 
as  to  his  pockets  was  willing  to  be  cold  otherwise  for  a  time.  The 
rest  of  the  gray  coats  and  cloaks  which  were  so  alert  and  erect  a  lit- 
lie  while  ago  were  doubled  up  on  every  side  in  all  sorts  of  despond 
ent  attitudes.  A  dull  quiet  brooded  over  the  assembly  ;  and  Mr 
Carleton  walked  up  and  down  the  vacant  space.  Once  he  caught 
an  anxious  glance  from  Fleda,  and  came  immediately  to  her  side. 


QUEECHV.  187 

••You  need  not  be  troubled  about  me,"  he  said  with  a  most  genial 
smile  ; — "  I  am  not  suffering — never  was  further  from  it  in  my  life." 

Fleda  could  neither  answer  nor  look. 

"There  are  not  many  hours  of  the  night  to  wear  out,"  he  said. 
•'  Can't  you  follow  your  neighbor's  example  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

'«  This  watching  is  too  hard  for  you.  You  will  have  another  head 
ache  to-morrow." 

"  No — perhaps  not,"  she  said  with  a  grateful  look  up. 

"  You  do  not  feel  the  cold  now,  Elfie  ?  " 

11  Not  at  all — not  in  the  least — I  am  perfectly  comfortable — I  an 
Joing  very  well — " 

He  stood  still,  and  the  changing  lights  and  shades  on  Fleda's 
cheek  grew  deeper. 

"  Do  you  know  where  we  are,  Mr.  Carleton  ?  " 

"  Somewhere  between  a  town  the  name  of  which  I  have  forgotten 
and  a  place  called  Quarrenton,  I  think  ;  and  Quarrenton,  they  tell 
me,  is  but  a  few  miles  from  Greenfield.  Our  difficulties  will  vanish, 
I  hope,  with  the  darkness." 

He  walked  again,  and  Fleda  mused,  and  wondered  at  herself  in 
the  black  fox.  She  did  not  venture  another  look,  though  her  eye 
took  in  nothing  very  distinctly  but  the  outlines  of  that  figure  pass 
ing  up  and  down  through  the  car.  He  walked  perseveringly  ;  and 
weariness  at  last  prevailed  over  every  thing  else  with  Fleda  ;  she 
lost  herself  with  her  head  leaning  against  the  bit  of  wood  between 
the  windows. 

The  rousing  of  the  great  coats,  and  the  growing  gray  light,  roused 
her  before  her  uneasy  sleep  had  lasted  an  hour.  The  lamps  were 
out,  the  car  was  again  spotted  with  two  long  rows  of  window-panes, 
through  which  the  light  as  yet  carne  but  dimly.  The  morning  had 
dawned  at  last,  and  seemed  to  have  brought  with  it  a  fresh  acces 
sion  of  cold,  for  everybody  was  on  the  stir.  Fleda  put  up  her  win 
dow  to  get  a  breath  of  fresh  air  and  see  how  the  day  looked. 

A  change  of  weather  had  come  with  the  dawn.  It  was  not  fine 
yet.  The  snowing  had  ceased,  but  the  clouds  hung  overhead  still, 
though  not  with  the  leaden  uniformity  of  yesterday  ;  they  were 
higher  and  broken  into  many  a  soft  grey  fold,  that  promised  to  roll 
away  from  the  sky  by  and  by.  The  snow  was  deep  on  the  ground  ; 
every  visible  thing  lapped  in  a  thick  white  covering  ;  a  still,  very 
grave,  very  pretty  winter  landscape,  but  somewhat  dreary  in  its  as< 
pect  to  a  train-ful  of  people  fixed  io  the  midst  of  it  out  of  sight  of 
human  habitation.  Fleda  felt  that,  but  only  in  the  abstract  ;  to  her 
it  did  not  seem  dreary  ;  she  enjoyed  the  wild  solitary  beauty  of  the 
scene  very  much,  with  many  a  grateful  thought  of  what  might  have 
been.  As  it  was,  she  left  difficulties  entirely  to  others. 

As  soon  as  it  was  light  the  various  inmates  of  the  strange  dormi 
tory  gathered  themselves  up  and  set  out  on  foot  for  Quarrenton.  By 
one  of  them  Mr.  Carleton  sent  an  order  for  a  sleigh,  which  in  as 
short  a  time  as  possible  arrived,  and  transported  him  and  Fleda  and 
Mrs.  Renney,  and  one  other  ill-bestead  woman,  safely  to  the  little 
town  of  Quarrenton. 


168  QUEECHY. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

Welcome  the  sour  cup  of  prosperity !  Affliction  may  one  day  smilf 
ngain,  and  till  then,  Sit  thee  down,  sorrow  ! — LOVE'S  LABOR  LOST. 

IT  had  been  a  wild  night,  and  the  morning  looked  scared.  Per- 
•aps  it  was  only  the  particular  locality,  for  if  ever  a  place  showed 
leak  and  winter-stricken  the  little  town  of  Quarrenton  was  in  that 
jondition  that  morning.  The  snow  overlaid  and  enveloped  every 
thing,  except  where  the  wind  had  been  at  work  ;  and  the  wind  and 
the  grey  clouds  seemed  the  only  agencies  abroad.  Not  a  ray  of 
sunlight  to  relieve  the  uniform  sober  tints,  the  universal  grey  and 
white,  only  varied  where  a  black  house-roof,  partially  cleared,  or  a 
blacker  bare-branched  tree,  "gave  it  a  sharp  interruption.  There 
was  not  a  solitary  thing  that  bore  an  indication  of  comfortable  life, 
unless  the  curls  of  smoke  that  went  up  from  the  chimneys  ;  and 
Fleda  was  in  no  condition  to  study  their  physiognomy. 

A  little  square  hotel,  perched  alone  on  a  rising  ground,  looked 
the  especial  bleak  and  unpromising  spot  of  the  place.  It  bore 
however  the  imposing  title  of  the  Pocahontas  ;  and  there  the  sleigh 
set  them  down. 

They  were  ushered  up-stairs  into  a  little  parlor  furnished  in  the 
usual  style,  with  one  or  two  articles  a  great  deal  too  showy  for  the 
place  and  a  general  dearth  as  to  the  rest.  A  lumbering  mahogany 
sofa,  that  showed  as  much  wood  and  as  little  promise  as  possible  ; 
a  marble-topped  centre-table  ;  chairs  in  the  minority  and  curtains 
minus ;  and  the  hearth-rug  providently  turned  bottom  upward. 
On  the  centre-table  lay  a  pile  of  Penny  Magazines,  a  volume  of 
selections  of  poetry  from  various  good  authors,  and  a  sufficient 
complement  of  newspapers.  The  room  was  rather  cold,  but  of 
that  the  waiter  gave  a  reasonable  explanation  in  the  fact  that  the 
fire  had  not  been  burning  long. 

Furs  however  might  be  dispensed  with,  or  Fleda  thought  so  ; 
-ind  taking  off  her  bonnet  she  endeavored  to  rest  her  weary  head 
against  the  sharp-cut  top  of  the  sofa-back,  which  seemed  contrived 
=xpressly  to  punish  and  forbid  all  attempts  at  ease-seeking.  The 
nere  change  of  position  was  still  comparative  ease.  But  the  black 
:ox  had  not  done  duty  yet.  Its  ample  folds  were  laid  over  the  sofa. 
:ushion,  back,  and  all,  so  as  at  once  to  serve  for  pillow  and  mat 
tress  ;  and  Fleda  being  gently  placed  upon  it  laid  her  face  down 
again  upon  the  soft  fur,  which  gave  a  very  kindly  welcome  not 
more  to  the  body  than  to  the  mind.  Fleda  almost  smiled  as  she 
felt  that.  The  furs  were  something  more  than  a  pillow  for  her 
cheek — they  were  the  soft  image  of  somewhat  for  her  mind  to  rest 
on.  But  entirely  exhausted,  too  much  for  smiles  or  tears,  though 
both  were  near,  she  resigned  herself  as  helplessly  as  an  infant  to 
the  feeling  of  rest  ;  and  in  five  minutes  was  in  a  state  of  dreamy 
unconsciousness. 

Mrs.  Renney  who  had  slept  a  great  part  of  the\  night,  courted 
sleep  anew  in  the  rocking-chair,  till  breakfast  should  be  ready  ;  the 


46* 

other  woman  had  found  quarters  'A  the  lower  part  of  the  house  ; 
and  Mr.  Carleton  stood  st^ll  with  folded  arms  to  read  at  his  leisure 
the  fair  face  that  rested  so  confidingly  upon  the  black  fur  of  his 
cloak,  looking  so  very  fair  in  the  contrast.  It  was  the  same  face 
he  had  known  in  time  past, — the  same,  with  only  an  alteration 
that  had  added  new  graces  but  had  taken  away  none  of  the  old. 
Not  one  of  the  soft  outlines  had  grown  hard  under  Time's  disci 
pline  ;  not  a  curve  had  lost  its  grace  or  its  sweet  mobility  ;  and  yet 
:e  hand  of  Time  had  been  there  ;  for  on  brow  and  lip  and  cheek 

id  eyelid,  there  was  that  nameless  grave  composure  which  said 
i'ingly  that  hope  had  long  ago  clasped  hands  with  submission. 

ul  perhaps,  that  if  hope's  anchor  had  not  been  well  placed,  ay, 
even  where  it  could  not  be  moved,  the  storms  of  life  might  have 
beaten  even  hope  from  her  ground  and  made  a  clean  sweep  of  des 
olation  over  all  she  had  left.  Not  the  storms  of  the  last  few  weeks. 
Mr.  Carleton  saw  and  understood  their  work  in  the  perferUy  color 
less  and  thin  cheek.  But  these  other  finer  drawn  characters  had 
taken  longer  to  write.  He  did  not  know  the  instrument,  but  he 
read  the  handwriting,  and  came  to  his  own  resolutions  thtiefrom. 

Yet  if  not  untroubled  she  had  remained  unspotted  by  th^  world  ; 
that  was  as  clear  as  the  other.  The  slight  eyebrow  ..,  with  its 
wonted  calm  purity  of  outline  just  where  it  used  ;  the  t;>clir  fell  as 
quietly  ;  the  forehead  above  ft  was  as  unruffled  ;  and  if  the  mouth 
had  a  subdued  gravity  that  it  had  taken  years  to  teach,  it  had 
neither  lost  any  of  the  sweetness  nor  any  of  the  simplicity  of  child 
hood.  It  was  a  strange  picture  that  Mr.  Carleton  was  looking  at, 
— strange  ibr  its  rareness.  In  this  very  matter  of  simplicity,  that 
the  world  will  never  leave  those  who  belong  to  it.  Half  sitting  and 
half  reclining,  she  had  given  herself  to  rest  with  the  abandonment 
and  self-forgetfulness  of  a  child  ;  her  attitude  had  the  very  grace 
of  a  child's  unconsciousness  ;  and  her  face  showed  that  even  in 
placing  herself  there  she  had  lost  all  thought  of  any  other  presence 
or  any  other  eyes  than  her  own  ;  even  of  what  her  hand  and  cheek 
lay  upon,  and  what  it  betokened.  It  meant  something  to  Mr. 
Carleton  too  ;  and  if  Fleda  could  have  opened  her  eyes  she  would 
have  seen  in  those  that  were  fixed  upon  her  a  happy  promise  for 
her  future  life,  She  was  beyond  making  any  such  observations  ; 
Mid  Mrs.  Renney  gave  no  interruption  to  his  till  the  breakfast  bel; 
ang. 

Mr,  Carleton  had  desired  the  meal  to  be  served  in  a  private 
room.  But  he  was  met  with  a  speech  in  which  such  a  confusion 
of  arguments  endeavored  to  persuade  him  to  be  of  another  mind, 
*hat  he  had  at  last  given  way.  It  was  asserted  that  the  ladies 
would  have  their  breakfast  a  great  deal  quicker  and  a  great  deal 
hotter  witfc  the  rest  of  the  company  ;  and  in  the  same  breath  that 
it  would  be  a  very  great  favor  to  the  house  if  the  gentleman  would 
not  put  them  to  the  inconvenience  of  setting  a  separate  table  ;  the 
reasons  of  which  inconvenience  were  set  forth  in  detail,  or  would 
have  been  if  the  gentleman  would  have  heard  them  ;  and  desirous 
especially  of  haste,  on  Fleda's  account,  Mr.  Carleton  signified  his 
willingness  to  let  the  house  accommodate  itself.  Following  the  bell 
a  waiter  now  came  to  announce  and  conduct  them  to  their  break 
fast. 


470  QUEECHY. 

Down  the  stairs,  through  sundry  narrow  turning  passages,  thoy 
went  to  a  long  low  room  at  one  corner  of  the  house  ;  where  a  table 
was  spread  for  a  very  nondescript  company,  as  it  soon  proved, 
many  of  their  last  night's  companions  having  found  their  way 
thither.  The  two  ladies  however,  were  given  the  chief  posts  at  the 
head,  as  near  as  possible  to  a  fiery  hot  stove,  and  served  with  tea 
and  coffee  from  a  neighboring  table  by  a  young  lady  in  long  ring 
lets  who  was  there  probably  for  their  express  honor.  But  alas  for 
the  breakfast !  They  might  as  good  have  had  the  comfort  of  ? 
private  room,  for  there  was  none  other  to  be  had.  Of  the  tea  an; 
coffee  it  might  be  said  as  once  it  was  said  of  tv/o  bad  roads- 
•«  whichever  one  you  take  you  will  wish  you  had  taken  the  other; 
the  beefsteak  was  a  problem  of  impracticability  ;  and  the  chickens 
— Fleda  could  not  help  thinking  that  a  well-to-do  rooster  which  she 
saw  flapping  his  wings  in  the  yard,  must  in  all  probability  be  at 
that  very  moment  endeavoring  to  account  for  a  sudden  breach  in 
his  social  circle  ;  and  if  the  oysters  had  been  some  very  fine  ladies 
they  could  hardly  have  retained  less  recollection  of  their  original 
circumstances.  It  was  in  vain  to  try  to  eat  or  to  drink  ;  and 
Fleda  returned  to  her  sofa  with  even  an  increased  appetite  for 
rest,  the  more  that  her  head  began  to  take  its  revenge  for  the 
trials  to  which  it  had  been  put  the  past  day  and  night. 

She  had  closed  her  eyes  again  in  her  old  position.  Mrs.  Ren- 
ney  was  tying  her  bonnet-strings.  Mr.  Carleton  was  pacing  up 
and  down. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  get  ready,  Miss  Ringgan ? "  said  the 
former. 

"  How  soon  will  the  cars  be  here  ?  "  exclaimed  Fleda  starting  up. 

"Presently,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  ;  "  but,"  said  he,  coming  up  to 
her  and  taking  her  hands, — "  I  am  going  to  prescribe  for  you 
again — will  you  let  me  ?  " 

Fleda' s  face  gave  small  promise  of  opposition. 

"  You  are  not  fit  to  travel  now.  You  need  some  hours  of  quiet 
1-est  before  we  go  any  further." 

"  But  when  shall  we  get  home  ?  "  said  Fleda. 

"  In  good  time — not  by  the  railroad — there  is  a  nearer  way  thai 
will  take  us  to  Queechy  without  going  through  Greenfield.  I  have 
ordered  a  room  to  be  made  ready  for  you — will  you  try  if  it  b( 
habitable?" 

Fleda  submitted  ;  and  indeed  there  was  in  his  manner  a  sor 
of  gentle  determination  to  which  few  women  would  have  opposed 
themselves  ;  besides  that  her  head  threatened  to  make  a  jourr.ey 
a  miserable  business. 

"  You  are  ill  now,"  said  Mr.  Carleton.  "  Cannot  you  induce 
your  companion  to  stay  and  attend  you?" 

"  I  don't  want  her,"  said  .Fleda. 

Mr.  Carleton  however  mooted  the  question  himself  with  Mrs. 
Renney,  but  she  represented  to  him,  though  with  much  deference, 
that  the  care  of  her  property  must  oblige  her  to  go  where  and 
when  it  went.  He  rang  and  ordered  the  housekeeper  to  be  sent. 

Presently  after  a  young  lady  in  ringlets  entered  the  room,  and 
first  taking  a  somewhat  leisurely  survey  of  the  company,  walked 
to  the  window  and  stood  there  looking:  out.  A  dim  recollectk* 


QUEECHY.  471 

of  her  figure  and  air  made  Fleda  query  whether  she  were  not  the 
person  sent  for  ;  but  it  was  several  minutes  before  it  came  into  Mr. 
Carleton's  head  to  ask  if  she  belonged  to  the  house. 

"  I  do,  sir,"  was  the  dignified  answer. 

"  Will  you  show  this  lady  the  room  prepared  for  her.  And 
take  care  *hat  she  wants  nothing." 

The  owner  of  the  ringlets  answered  not,  but  turning  the  front 
view  of  them  full  upon  Fleda  seemed  to  intimate  that  she  wa§ 
jeady  to  act  as  her  guide.  She  hinted  however  that  the  rooms 
were  very  airy  in  winter  and  that  Fleda  would  stand  a  better  chance 
3f  comfort  where  she  was.  But  this  Fleda  would  not  listen  to,  and 
followed  her  adviser  to  the  half  warmed  and  certainly  very  airy 
apartment  which  had  been  got  ready  for  her.  It  was  probably 
more  owing  to  something  in  her  own  appearance  than  to  Mr. 
Carleton's  word  of  admonition  on  the  subject  that  her  attendant  was 
really  assiduous  and  kind. 

"Be  you  of  this  country?"  she  said  abruptly,  after  her  g>od 
offices  as  Fleda  thought  were  ended,  and  she  had  just  closed  :ier 
eyes. 

She  opened  them  again  and  said  "  yes." 

"  Well,  that  ain't  in  the  parlor,  is  he?  " 

"What?"  said  Fleda. 

"One  of  our  folks?" 

"  An  American,  you  mean  ? — No.'* 

••  I  thought  he  wa'n't— What  is  he?" 

"  He  is  English." 

"  Is  he  your  brother?" 

"No." 

The  young  lady  gave  her  a  good  loox  out  of  her  large  dark  eyes, 
and  remarking  that  "  she  thought  they  didn't  look  much  like,"  left 
the  room. 

The  day  was  spent  by  poor  Fleda  between  pain  and  stupor,  each 
of  which  acted  in  some  measure  to  check  the  other  ;  too  much  ex 
hausted  for  nervous  pain  to  reach  the  height  it  sometimes  did,  while 
yet  that  was  sufficient  to  prevent  stupor  from  sinking  into  sleep. 
Beyond  any  power  of  thought  or  even  fancy,  with  only  a  dreamy 
succession  of  images  flitting  across  her  mind,  the  hours  passed  she 
knew  not  how  ;  that  they  did  pass  she  knew  from  her  handmaid  in 
he  long  curls  who  was  every  now  and  then  coming  in  to  look  at 
er  and  give  her  fresh  water ;  it  needed  no  ice.  Her  handmaid 
old  her  that  the  cars  were  gone  by- -that  it  was  near  noon— then 
;iiat  it  was  past  noon.  There  was  no  help  for  it  ;  she  could  only  lie 
still  and  wait ;  it  was  long  past  noon  before  she  was  able  to  move  ; 
and  she  was  looking  ill  enough  yet  when  she  at  last  opened  the 
door  of  the  parlor  and  slowly  presented  herself. 

Mr.  Carleton  was  there  alone,  Mrs.  Renuey  having  long  since  ac 
companied  her  baggage.  He  came  forward  instantly  and  led  Fleda 
to  the  sofa,  with  such  gentle  grave  kindness  that  she  cojld  hardly 
bear  it ;  her  nerves  had  been  in  an  unsteady  state  all  day.  A  table 
was  set  and  partially  spread  with  evidently  much  more-  care  than 
the  one  of  the  morning  ;  and  Fleda  sat  looking  at  it  afraid  to  trust 
herself  to  look  anywhere  else.  For  years  she  had  been  taking  care 
of  others  ;  and  now  there  was  something  so  strange  in  this  feeling 


472  QUEECHY. 

of  being  cared  for,  that  her  heart  was  full.  Whatever  Mr.  Carletoa 
saw  or  suspected  of  this,  it  did  not  appear.  On  the  corlrary  his 
manner  and  his  talk  on  different  matters  was  as  cool,  as  quiet,  as 
graceful,  as  if  neither  he  nor  Fleda  had  anything  particular  to  think 
of;  avoiding  even  an  allusion  to  whatever  might  in  the  leant  distress 
her,  Fleda  thought  she  had  a  great  many  reasons  to  be  grateful  tc 
him,  but  she  never  thanked  him  for  anything  more  than  at  that  mo 
ment  she  thanked  him  for  the  delicacy  which  so  regarded  hor  deli 
cacy  and  put  her  in  a  few  minutes  completely  at  her  eas€  as  sVu 
;ould  be. 

The  refreshments  were  presently  brought,  and  Fleda  was  servec 
.vith  them  in  a  way  that  went  as  far  as  possible  toward  makii  g  them 
satisfactory  ;  but  though  a  great  improvement  upon  the  morning 
they  furnished  still  but  the  substitute  for  a  meal.  There  was  a  little 
pause  then  after  the  horses  were  ordered. 

"  1  am  afraid  you  have  wanted  my  former  prescription  to-day," 
said  Mr.  Carleton,  after  considering  the  little-improved  color  ol 
Fleda' s  face. 

"  I  have  indeed." 

41  Where  is  it?" 

Fleda  hesitated,  ana  eJien  in  a  little  confusion  said  she  supposed 
it  was  lying  on  Mrs.  Evelyn's  centre-table. 

"  How  happens  that?  "  said  he  smiling. 

"Because — I  could  not  help  it,  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Fleda  with 
no  little  difficulty  ; — "  I  was  foolish — I  could  not  bring  it  away." 

He  understood  and  was  silent. 

"Are  you  fit  to  bear  a  long  ride  in  the  cold?"  he  said  compas 
sionately  a  few  minutes  after.  ^ 

"  Oh  yes! — It  will  do  me  good." 

"  You  have  had  a  miserable  day,  have  you  not?  " 

"  My  head  has  been  pretty  bad, — "  said  Fleda  a  little  evasively 

"Well,  what  would  you  have?"  said  he  lightly  ; — "  doesn't  that 
make  a  miserable  day  of  it  ?  " 

Fleda  hesitated  and  colored, — and  then  conscious  that  her  cheeks 
were  answering  for  her,  colored  so  exceedingly  that  she  was  fain  to 
put  both  her  hands  up  to  hide  what  they  only  served  the  more 
plainly  to  show.  No  advantage  was  taken.  Mr.  Carleton  said 
nothing;  she  could  not  see  what  answer  might  be  in  his  face,  li 
1  as  only  by  a  peculiar  quietness  in  his  tone  whenever  he  spoke  te 
:-.?r  afterward  that  Fleda  knew  she  had  been  thoroughly  understood. 
he  dared  not  lift  her  eyes. 

They  had  soon  employment  enough  around  her.  A  sleigh  and 
horses  better  than  anything  else  Quarrenton  had  been  known  to 
furnish,  were  carrying  her  rapidly  toward  home  ;  the  weather  had 
perfectly  cleared  off,  and  in  full  brightness  and  fairness  tbe  sun  was 
shining  upon  a  brilliant  world.  It  was  cold  indeed,  though  the  onlv 
wind  was  that  made  by  their  progress  ;  but  Fleda  had  been  again 
unresistingly  wrapped  in  the  furs  and  was  for  the  time  beyond  the 
reach  of  that  or  any  other  annoyance.  She  sat  silently  and  quietly 
enjoying  :  so  quietly  that  a  stranger  might  have  questioned  there 
being  any  enjoyment  in  the  case.  It  was  a  very  picturesque  broken 
countr*  fresh-covered  with  snow  ;  and  at  that  hour,  late  in  the  day, 
the  lights  and  shadows  were  a  constantly  varying  charm  to  the 


QUEECRf.  473 

Clumps  of  evergreens  stood  out  in  full  disclosure  against  the  white 
ground  ;  the  bare  branches  of  neighboring  trees,  in  all  their  bar 
renness,  had  a  wild  prospective  or  retrospective  beauty  peculiar  to 
themselves.  On  the  wavy  white  surface  of  the  meadow-land,  or 
the  steep  hill-sides,  lay  every  variety  of  shadow  in  blue  and  neutral 
tint;  where  they  lay  not  the  snow  was  too  brilliant  to  be  borne. 
And  afar  off,  through  a  heaven  bright  and  cold  enough  to  hold  the 
"anopy  over  Winter's  head,  the  ruler  of  the  day  was  gently  prepar 
."!£  to  say  good-bye  to  the  world.  Fleda's  eye  seemed  to  be  ne\f 
it  for  all  forms  of  beauty,  and  roved  from  one  to  the  other,  s 
rave  and  bright  as  nature  itself. 

/or  a  little  way  Mr.  Carleton  left  her  to  her  musings  and  was 
as  silent  as  she.  But  he  gently  drew  her  into  a  conversation  that 
broke  up  the  settled  gravity  of  her  face  and  obliged  her  to  divide 
her  attention  between  nature  and  him,  and  his  part  of  it  knew  how  to 
manage.  But  though  eye  and  smile  constantly  answered  him  he 
could  win  neither  to  a  straightforward  bearing. 

They  were  about  a  mile  from  Queechy  when  Fleda  suddenly 
exclaimed, 

"  O  Mr.  Carleton,  please  stop  the  sleigh  ? — " 

The  horses  were  stopped. 

"It  is  only  Earl  Douglass — our  farmer,"  Fleda  said  in  explana 
tion, — "I  want  to  ask  how  they  are  at  home." 

In  answer  to  her  nod  of  recognition  Mr.  Douglass  came  to  the 
side  of  the  vehicle  ;  but  till  he  was  there,  close,  gave  her  no  other 
answer  by  word  or  sign  ;  when  there,  broke  forth  his  accustomed 
guttural, 

"  How  d'ye  do !  *' 

"How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Douglass,"  said  Fleda.  "  How  are  they 
all  at  home  ?  " 

"Well,  there  ain't  nothin'  new  among  'em,  as  I've  heerd  on," 
said  Earl,  diligently  though  stealthily  at  the  same  time  qualifying 
himself  to  make  a  report  of  Mr.  Carleton. — "I  guess  they'll  be 
be  glad  to  see  you.  /  be." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Douglass.     How  is  Hugh  ?  " 

"  He  ain't  nothin'  different  from  what  he's  been  for  a  spell  back 
-  -at  least  I  ain't  heerd  that  he  was. — Maybe  he  is,  but  if  he  is  I 

I'a't  heerd  speak  of  it,  and  if  he  was,  I  think  I  should  har 
;.3erd  speak  of  it.  He  was  pretty  bad  a  spell  ago — about  wbe? 
ou  went  away — but  he's  been  better  sen.  So  they  say.  I  haV 
.•ien  him. — Well  Flidda,"  he  added  with  somewhat  of  a  sly  gleam 
m  his  eye, — '«  do  you  think  you're  going  to  make  up  your  mind  to 
stay  to  hum  this  time  ?  " 

"  1  have  no  immediate  intention  of  running  away,  Mr.  Doug- 
iass,"  said  Fleda,  her  pale  cheeks  turning  rose  as  she  saw  him 
looking  curiously  up  and  down  the  edges  of  the  black  fox.  His 
eye  came  back  to  hers  with  a  good-humored  intelligence  that  she 
could  hardly  stand. 

"  It's  time  you  was  back,"  said  he.  "  Your  uncle's  to  hum, — 
but  he  don't  do  me  much  good,  whatever  he  does  to  other  folks— 
nor  himself  nother,  as  far  as  the  farm  goes  ;  there's  that  corn  " — 

"Very  well,  Mr.   Douglass,"  said  Fleda,—  "  I- shall  be  at 
now,  and  I'll  see  about  it/' 


471  QUEECHY. 

••  Very  good  !  "  said  Earl  as  he  stepped  back, — "  Queechy  can't 
get  along  without  you,  that's  no  mistake." 

They  drove  on  a  few  minutes  in  silence. 

"  Aren't  you  thinking,  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Fleda,  "  that  my 
countrymen  are  a  strange  mixture?" 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  them  at  all  at  this  moment.  I  believe 
such  a  nodon  has  crossed  my  mind." 

"  It  has  crossed  mine  very  often,"  said  Fleda. 

11  How  do  you  read  them?  what  is  the  basis  of  it?" 

'•  I  think, — the  strong  self-respect  which  springs  from  the  security 
and  importance  that  republican  institutions  give  every  man.    But,' 
she  added  coloring,  "  1  have  seen  very  little  of  the  world  and  ought 
not  to  judge." 

"I  have  no  doubt  you  are  quite  right,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  smil 
ing.  "  But  don't  you  think  an  equal  degree  of  self-respect  may 
consist  with  giving 'honor  where  honor  is  due  ?" 

"  Yes — "  said  Fleda  a  little  doubtfully, — "where  religion  and  not 
republicanism  is  the  spring  of  it." 

"  Humility  and  not  pride,"  said  he.     "  Yes — you  are  right." 

"  My  countrymen  do  yield  honor  where  they  think  it  is  due," 
said  Fleda  ;  "especially  where  it  is  not  claimed.  They  must  give 
it  to  reality,  not  to  pretension.  And  I  confess  I  would  rather  see 
them  a  little  rude  in  their  independence  than  cringing  before  mere  ad. 
vantagesof  external  position  ; — even  for  my  own  personal  pleasure." 

"  I  agree  with  you,  Elfie, — putting  perhaps  the  last  clause  out  of 
the  question." 

"Now  that  man,"  said  Fleda,  smiling  at  his  look, — "  I  suppose 
his  address  must  have  struck  you  as  very  strange  ;  and  yet  there 
was  no  want  of  respect  under  it.  I  am  sure  he. has  a  true  thorough 
respect  and  even  regard  for  me,  and  would  prove  it  on  any  oc 
casion." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  that." 

"  But  it  does  not  satisfy  you  ?  " 

"  Not  quite.  I  confess  I  should  require  more  from  any  one  under 
my  control." 

"Oh  nobody  is  under  control  here,"  said  Fleda.  "  That  is,  I 
mean,  individual  control.  Unless  so  far  as  self-interest  comes  in 
I  suppose  that  is  all  powerful  here  as  elsewhere." 

"  And  the  reason  it  gives  less  power  to  individuals  is  that  the 
greater  freedom  of  resources  makes  no  man's  interest  depend  sc 
absolutely  on  one  other  man.  That  is  a  reason  you  cannot  regret. 
No — your  countrymen  have  the  best  of  it,  Elfie.  But  do  you  sup 
pose  that  this  is  a  fair  sample  of  the  whole  country  ?  " 

"  I  dare  not  say  that,"  said  Fleda.  "  I  am  afraid  there  is  not  so 
much  intelligence  and  cultivation  everywhere.  But  I  am  sure 
there  are  many  parts  of  the  land  that  will  bear  a  fair  comparison 
with  it." 

"  It  is  more  than  I  vould  dare  say  for  my  own  land." 

"  I  should  think — "  Fleda  suddenly  stopped. 

"  What? — "  said  Mr.  Carleton  gently. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir, — I  was  going  to  say  something  very 
presumptuous." 

"  You  cannot, "he  said  in  the  same  tone* 


QUEECHY.  475 

'•I  was  going  to  say,  '  said  Fleda  blushing,  "  that  I  should  think 
there  might  be  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  in  raising  the  tone  of  inind 
and  character  among  the  people, — as  one  could  who  had  influence 
over  a  large  neighborhood." 

His  smile  was  very  bright  in  answer. 

44  I  have  been  trying  that,  Elfie,  for  the  last  eight  years." 

Fleda's  eye  looked  now  eagerly  in  pleasure  and  in  curiosity  fof 
more.  But  he  was  silent. 

44  I  was  thinking  a  little  while  ago,"  he  said,  44  of  the  time  one* 
before  when  I  rode  here  with  you — when  you  were  beginning  to 
ead  me  to  the  problem  I  have  been  trying  to  work  out  ever  since.— 
When  I  left  you  in  Paris  I  went  to  resolve  with  myself  the  question. 
What  I  had  to  do  in  the  world  ? — Your  little  Bible  was  my 
valuable  help.  I  had  read  very  little  of  it  when  I  threw  aside 
other  books  ;  and  my  problem  was  soon  solved.  I  saw  that  the 
life  has  no  honor  nor  value  which  is  not  spent  to  the  glory  of  God. 
I  saw  the  end  I  was  made  for — the  happiness  I  was  fitted  for — the 
dignity  to  which  even  a  fallen  creature  may  rise,  through  his  dear 
Redeemer  and  surety." 

Fleda's  eyes  were  down  now.  Mr.  Carleton  was  silent  a  mo 
ment,  watching  one  or  two  bright  witnesses  that  fell  from  them. 

44  The  next  conclusion  was  easy, — that  my  work  was  at  home.— 
I  have  wanted  my  good  fairy,"  Mr.  Carleton  went  on  smiling. 
"  But  I  hope  she  will  be  contented  to  carry  the  standard  of  Chris 
tianity,  without  that  of  republicanism." 

44  But  Christianity  tends  directly  to  republicanism,  Mr.  Carleton," 
said  Fleda,  trying  to  laugh. 

44  I  know  that,"  said  he  smiling,  44  and  I  am  willing  to  know  it. 
But  the  leaven  of  truth  is  one  thing,  and  the  powder  train  of  the  in- 
novator  is  another." 

Fleda  sat  thinking  that  she  had  very  little  in  common  with  the 
layers  of  powder  trains.  She  did  not  know  the  sleigh  was  passing 
Deepwater  lake,  till  Mr.  Carleton  said, 

"  I  am  glad,  my  dear  Elfie,  for  your  sake,  that  we  are  almost  at 
the  end  of  your  journey." 

44  I  should  think  you  might  be  glad  for  your  own  sake,  Mr.  Carle* 
ton." 

•'  No — my  journey  is  not  ended — " 

-Not?" 

•  «  No — it  will  not  be  ended  till  I  get  back  to  New  York,  of 
rather  till  I  find  myself  here  again — I  shall  make  very  little  delay 
there—" 

41  But  you  will  not  go  any  further  to-night  ?"  said  Fledat  her  eye 
this  time  meeting  his  fully. 

44  Yes — I  must  take  the  first  train  to  New  York.  -  I  have  some 
reason  to  expect  my  mother  by  this  steamer." 

"  Back  to  New  York!  "  said  Fleda.  4<  Then  taking  care  of  me 
has  just  hindered  you  in  your  business." 

But  even  as  she  spoke  she  read  the  truth  in  his  eye  and  her  owa 
fall  in  confusion. 

44  My  business  ?  "  said  he  smiling  ; — 44  you  know  it  now,  Elfie.  I 
arrived  at  Mrs.  Evelyn's  just  after  you  had  quitted  it,  intending  to 
ask  you  to  take  the  long  talked  of  drive  ;  and  learned  to  my  ar 


Dn, 

in-  \ 

all  \ 

the  i 


476  QUEECHT. 

tonishment  that  you  had  left  the  city,  and  as  Edith  kindly  informed 
me,  under  no  better  guardianship  than  that  in  which  I  found  you. 
I  was  just  in  time  to  reach  the  boat." 

'  And  you  were  in  the  boat  night  before  last?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  I  should  have  felt  a  great  deal  easier  if  I  had  known  that/  said 
Fleda. 

"  So  should  I,"  said  he,  "  but  you  were  invisible,  till  I  discerned 
you  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of  people  before  me  in  thecar." 

Pleda  was  silent  till  the  sleigh  stopped  and  Mr.  Carleton  hac 
handed  her  out. 

"  What's  going  to  be  done  with  this  here  trunk  ?  "  said  the  driver; 
frying  a  tug  at  one  handle. 

"  I  will  send  somebody  down  to  help  you  with  it,"  said  Fleda 
"  It  is  too  heavy  for  one  alone." 

"  Well  I  reckon  it  is,"  said  he.  "  I  guess  you  didn't  know  I  was 
a  cousin,  did  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Fleda. 

"  I  believe  I  be." 

"  Who  are  you?" 

"I  am  Pierson  Barnes.  I  live  to  Quarrenton  for  a  year  back. 
Squire  Joshua  Springer's  your  uncle,  ain't  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  father's  uncle." 

"  Well  he's  mine  too.     His  sister's  my  mother." 

"  I'll  send  somebody  to  help  you,  Mr.  Barnes." 

She  took  Mr.  Carleton's  arm -and  walked  half  the  way  up  to  the 
nouse  without  daring  to  look  at  him. 

"  Another  specimen  of  your  countrymen,"  he  said  smiling. 

There  was  nothing  but  quiet  amusement  in  the  tone,  and  there 
was  not  the  shadow  of  anything  else  in  his  face.  Fleda  looked,  and 
thanked  him  mentally,  and  drew  breath  easier.  At  the  house  door 
he  made  a  pause. 

"  You  are  coming  in,  Mr.  Carleton?" 

"  Not  now." 

"  It  is  a  long  drive  to  Greenfield,  Mr.  Carleton  ; — you  must  not 
turn  away  from  a  country  house  till  \ve  have  shown  ourselves  un= 
worthy  to  live  in  it.-  You  will  come  in  and  let  us  give  you  some 
thing  more  substantial  than  those  Ouarreton  oysters.  Do  not  say 
no,"  she  said  earnestly  as  she  saw  a  refusal  in  his  eye, — "  I  knov/ 
.vhat  you  are  thinking  of,  but  they  do  not  know  that  you  have  beer 
told  anything — it  makes  no  difference". 

She  laid  her  gentle  detaining  hand,  as  irresistible  in  its  way  as 
most  things,  upon  his  arm,  and  he  followed  her  in. 

Only  Hugh  was  in  the  sitting-room,  and  he  was  in  a  great  easy- 
chair  by  the  fire.  It  struck  to  Fleda's  heart ;  but  there  was  no  time 
but  for  a  flash  of  thought.  He  had  turned  his  face  and  saw  her. 
Fleda  meant  to  have  controlled  herself  and  presented  Mr.  Carleton 
properly,  but  Hugh  started  up,  he  saw  nothing  but  herself,  and  one 
view  of  the  ethereal  delicac^  of  his  face  made  Fleda  for  a  moment 
forget  everything  but  him.  They  were  in  each  other's  arms,  and 
th/n  still  as  death.  Hugh  was  unconscious  that  a  stranger  was 
tiJtiC,  and  though  Fleda  was  very  conscious  that  one  was  there  who 
was  no  stranger, — there  was  so  much  in  both  hearts,  so  much  of 


QUEECHY.  477 

sorrow  and  joy,  and  gratitude  and  tenderness,  on  the  one  part  and 
on  the  other/  so  much  that  even  if  they  had  been  alone  lips  could 
only  have  said  silently, — that  for  a  little  while  they  kissed  each  other 
and  wept  in  a  passionate  attempt  to  speak  what  their  hearts  were 
too  full  of. 

Fleda  at  last  whispered  to  Hugh  that  somebody  else  was  there 
and  turned  to  make  as  well  as  she  might  the  introduction.  But  Mr. 
Carleton  did  not  need  it,  and  made  his  own  with  that  singular 
talent  which  in  all  circumstances,  wherever  he  chose  to  exert  it 
had  absolute  power.  Fleda  saw  Hugh's  countenance  change,  with 
a  kind  of  pleased  surprise,  and  herself  stood  still  under  the  charm 
/or  a  minute  ;  then  she  recollected  she  might  be  dispensed  with.  She 
took  up  her  little  spaniel  who  was  in  an  agony  of  gratulation  at  her 
feet,  and  went  out  into  the  kitchen. 

"Well  do  you  mean  to  say  you  are  here  at  last?"  said  Barby, 
her  grey  eyes  flashing  pleasure  as  she  came  forward  to  take  the  half 
hand  which  owing  to  King's  monopoly  was  all  Fleda  had  to  give 
her.  "  Have  you  come  home  to  stay,  Fleda  ?  " 

"  I  am  tired  enough  to  be  quiet,"  said  Fleda.  "  But  dear  Barby, 
what  have  you  got  in  the  house  ? — I  want  supper  as  quickly  as  it 
can  be  had." 

"  Well  you  do  look  dreadful  bad,"  said  Barby  eying  her.  "  Why 
there  ain't  much  particular,  Fleda  ;  nobody's  had  any  heart  to  eat 
lately  ;  I  thought  I  might  a'most  as  well  save  myself  the  fuss  of  get 
ting  victuals.  Hugh  lives  like  a  bird,  and  Mis'  Rossitur  ain't  much 
better,  and  I  think  all  of  'em  have  been  keeping  their  appetites  till 
you  came  back  ;  'cept  Philetus  and  me  ;  we  keep  it  up  pretty  well. 
Why  you're  come  home  hungry,  ain't  you  ?  " 

"No,  not  I,"  said  Fleda,  "but  there's  a  gentleman  here  that 
came  with  me  that  must  have  something  before  he  goes  away  again. 
What  have  you  Barby  ?  " 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  said  Barby. 

"  A  friend  that  took  care  of  me  on  the  way — I'll  tell  you  about  it, 
—but  in  the  mean  time,  supper,  Barby." 

"  Is  he  a  New  Yorker,  that  one  must  be  curious  for?  " 

"'As  curious  as  you  like,"  said  Fleda,  .«•  but  he  is  not  a  New 
Yorker." 

"Where  is  he  from,  then?"  said  Barby,  who  was  busily  putting 
jn  the  tea-kettle. 

1  'England." 

'  England  !  "  said  Barby  facing  about.  "  Oh  if  he's  an  English- 
.nan  I  don't  care  for  him,  Fleda." 

"  But  you  care  for  me,"  said  Fleda  laughing  ;  "  and  for  my  sake 
don't  let  our  hospitality  fail  to  somebody  who  has  been  very  kind  to 
me,  if  he  is  an  Englishman  ;  and  he  is  in  haste  to  be  off." 

"Well  I  don't  know  what  we're  a  going  to  give  him,"  said 
Barby  looking  at  her.  "There  ain't  much  in  the  pantry  besides 
cold  pork  and  beans  that  Philetus  and  me  made  our  dinner  on — 
they  wouldn't  have  it  in  there,  and  eat  nothing  but  some  pickere. 
the  doctor  sent  down — and  cold  fish  ain't  good  for  much." 

M  None  of  them  left  uncooked  ?" 

:j  Yes,  there's  a  couple — he  sent  a  great  lot — I  guess  he  thought 


478  QUEECHY. 

there  was  more  in  the  family — but  two  ain't  enough  to  go  rcmnd; 
they're  little  ones." 

"  No,  but  put  them  down  and  I'll  make  an  omelette.  Just  get 
the  things  ready  for  me,  Barby,  will  you,  while  I  run  up  to  see  aunt 
Lucy.  The  hens  have  begun  to  lay  ?  " 

"  La  yes — Philetus  fetches  in  lots  of  eggs— he  loves  'em,  I  reckon 
- — but  you  ain't  fit  this  minute  to  do  a  thing  but  rest,  Fleda." 

"I'll  rest  afterward.  Just  get  the  things  ready  for  me,  Barby. 
and  an  apron  ;  and  the  table — I'll  be  down  in  a  minute.  And 
Bajby,  grind  some  coffee,  will  you  ?  " 

But  as  she  turned  to  run  up-stairs,  her  uncle  stood  in  her  way, 
and  the  supper  vanished  from  Fleda's  head.  His  arms  were  open 
and  she  was  silently  clasped  in  them,  with  so  much  feeling  on  both 
sides  that  thought  and  well  nigh  strength  for  anything  else  on  her 
part  was  gone.  His  smothered  words  of  deep  blessing  overcame 
her.  Fleda  could  do  nothing  but  sob,  in  distress,  till  she  recol 
lected  Barby.  Putting  her  arms  round  his  neck  then  she  whispered 
to  him  that  Mr.Carleton  was  in  the  other  room  and  shortly  explained 
how  he  came  to  be  there,  and  begged  her  uncle  would  go  in  and 
see  him  till  supper  should  be  ready.  Enforcing  this  request  with 
a  parting  kiss  on  his  cheek  she  ran  off  up-stairs.  Mr.  Rossitur 
looked  extremely  moody  and  cloudy  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
went  in  and  joined  his  guest.  Mrs.  Rossitur  and  her  daughter 
could  not  be  induced  to  show  themselves. 

Little  Rolf  however  had  no  scruples,  of  any  kind.  He  presently 
edged  himself  into  the  room  to  see  the  stranger,  whom  he  no  sooner 
saw  than  with  a  joyous  exclamation  he  bounded  forward  to  claim 
an  old  friend. 

"Why  Mr.  Carleton,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Rossitur  in  surprise,  "I 
was  not  aware  that  this  young  gentleman  had  the  honor  of  your 
acquaintance." 

"  But  I  have  !  "  said  Rolf. 

"  In  London,  sir,  I  had  that  pleasure,"  said  Mr.  Carleton. 

"  I  think  it  was  /  had  the  pleasure,"  said  Rolf,  pounding  one 
hand  upon  Mr.  Carleton's  knee. 

"  Where  is  your  mother  ?  " 

"  She  wouldn't  come  down,"  said  Rolf, — "  but  I  guess  she  will 
when  she  knows  who  is  here — " 

And  he  was  darting  away  to  tell  her,  when  Mr  Carleton  within 
whose  arms  he  stood,  quietly  restrained  him,  and  told  him  he  was 
joing  away  presently,  but  would  come  again  and  see  his  mothei 
another  time. 

Are  you  going  back  to  England,  sir?  " 
By  and  by." 

But  you  will  come  here  again  first?'* 
Yes — if  Mr.  Rossitur  will  let  me." 

Mr.  Carleton  knows  he  commands  his  own  welcome,"  said  that 
gentleman  somewhat  stately.  "Go  and  tell  your  aunt  Fleda  that 
tea  is  ready,  Rolf." 

"  She  knows,"  said  Rolf.  "  She  was  making  an  omelette — I 
guess  it  was  for  this  gentleman  !  " 

Whose  name  he  was  not  clear  of  yet.  Mr.  Rossitur  looked 
vexed,  but  Hugh  laughed  and  asked  if  his  aunt  gave  him  leave  to 


QUEECHY.  479 

tell  that.  Rolf  entered  forthwith  into  discussion  on  this  subject 
while  Mr.  Carleton  who  had  not  seemed  to  hear  it  engaged  Mr. 
Rossitur  busily  in  another  ;  till  the  omelette  and  Fleda  came  in. 
Rolf's  mind  however  was  ill  at  ease. 

"Aunt  Fleda,"  said  he,  as  soon  as  she  had  fairly  taken  her 
place  at  the  head  of  the  table,  "  would  you  mind  my  telling  that 
you  made  the  omelette  for  this  gentleman  ?" 

Fleda  cast  a  confused  glance  first  at  the  person  in  question  and 
then  round  the  table,  but  Mr.  Carleton  without  looking  at  her  an 
swered  instantly, 

"  Don't  you  understand,  Rolf,  that  the  same  kindness  which  wil 
do  a  favor  for  a  friend  will  keep  him  in  ignorance  of  it?  " 

Rolf  pondered  a  moment  and  then  burst  forth, 

"Why  sir,  wouldn't  you  like  it  as  well  for  knowing  she  made 
it?" 

It  was  hardly  in  human  gravity  to  stand  this.  Fleda  herself 
laughed,  but  Mr.  Carleton  as  unmoved  as  possible  answered  him, 
"Certainly  not !  " — and  Rolf  was  nonplussed. 

The  supper  was  over.  Hugh  had  left  the  room,  and  Mr.  Rossi' 
Cur  had  before  that  gone  out  to  give  directions  about  Mr.  Carleton's 
horses.  He  and  Fleda  were  left  alone. 

"  I  have  something  against  you,  fairy,"  said  he  lightly,  taking 
her  hand  and  putting  it  to  his  lips.  "You  shall  not  again  do  me 
such  honor  as  you  .have  done  me  to-day. — I  did  not  deserve  it, 
Eifie." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  half  reproachfully.  Fleda  stood  a 
moment  motionless,  and  then  by  some  curious  revulsion  of  feeling 
put  both  her  hands  to  her  face  and  burst  into  tears. 

She  struggled  against  them,  and  spoke  almost  immediately, 

"You  will  think  me  very  foolish,  Mr.  Carleton, — I  am  ashamed 
of  myself — but  I  have  lived  here  so  long  in  this  way, — my  spirits 
have  grown  so  quieted  by  different  things, — that  it  seems  some- 
limes  as  if  I  could  not  bear  anything. — I  am  afraid — " 

"  Of  what,  my  dear  Elfie  ?" 

But  she  did  not  answer,  and  her  tears  came  again. 

"You  are  weary  and  spent,"  he  said  gently,  repossessing  him 
self  of  one  of  her  hands.  "  I  will  ask  you  another  time  what  you 
are  afraid  of,  and  rebuke  all  your  fears." 

"  I  deserve  nothing  but  rebuke  now,"  said  Fleda. 

But  her  hand  knew,  by  the  gentle  and  quiet  clasp  in  which  it  lay 
that  there  was  no  disposition  to  give  it. 

15  Do  not  speak  to  me  for  a  minute,"  she  said  hastily  as  she 
heard  some  one  coming. 

She  went  to  the  window  and  stood  there  looking  out  till  Mr. 
Carleton  came  to  bid  her  good-bye. 

"  Will  you  permit  me  to  say  to  Mrs.  Evelyn,"  he  said  in  a  low 
tone,  "'that  you  left  a  piece  of  your  property  in  her  house  and 
have  commissioned  me  to  bring  it  you  ?  " 

"Yes — "  said  Fleda,  hesitating  and  looking  a  little  confused, — 
"  but — will  you  let  me  write  a  note  instead,  Mr.  Carleton?  " 

"Certainly! — but  what  are  you  thinking  of,  Elfie  ?  \vhatgrave 
doubt  is  lying  under  your  brow  ?  " 

All  Fleda' s  shadows  roiled  away  before  that  clear  bright  eve 


480  QUEECHY. 

"I  have  found  by  experience,"  she  said,  smiling  a  little  but 
looking  down, — "  that  whenever  I  tell  my  secret  thoughts  to  any-- 
body  1  have  some  reason  afterward  to  be  sorry  for  it." 

"  You  shall  make  me  an  exception  to  your  rule  however,  Elfie." 

Fleda  looked  up,  one  of  her  looks  half  questioning  half  fear 
ing,  and  then  answered,  a  little  hesitating, 

"  I  was  afraid,  sir,  that  if  you  went  to  Mrs.  Evelyn's  on  that 
errand — I  was  afraid  you  would  show  them  you  were  displeased.1" 

"  And  what  then  ?  "  said  he  quietly. 

"  Only — that  I  wanted  to  spare  them  what  always  gives  me  a 
old  chill." 

"  Gives  you  !  "  said  Mr.  Carleton. 

11  No  sir — only  by  sympathy — I  thought  my  agency  would  be  the 
gentlest." 

"  1  see  I  was  right,"  she  said,  looking  up  as  he  did  not  answer, 
— "  but  they  don';  deserve  it, — not  half  so  much  as  you  think. 
They  talk— they  don't  know  what.  I  am  sure  they  never  meant 
half  they  said — never  meant  to  annoy  me  with  it,  I  mean, — and  I 
am  sure  they  have  a  true  love  for  me  ;  they  have  shown  it  in  a 
great  many  ways.  Constance  especially  never  showed  me  anything 
else.  They  have  been  very  kind  to  me  ;  and  as  to  Jetting  me  come 
away  as  they  did,  I  suppose  they  thought  I  was  in  a  greater  hurry 
to  get  home  than  I  really  was — and  they  would  very  likely  not  have 
minded  traveling  so  themselves  ;  I  am  so  different  from  them  that 
they  might  in  many  things  judge  me  by  themselves  and  yet  judge 
far  wrong." 

Fleda  was  going  on,  but  she  suddenly  became  aware  that  the  eye 
to  which  she  was  speaking  had  ceased  to  look  at  the  Evelyns, 
even  in  imagination,  and  she  stopped  short. 

"  Will  you  trust  me,  after  this,  to  see  Mrs.  Evelyn  without  the 
note  ?  "  said  he  smiling. 

But  Fleda  gave  him  her  hand  very  demurely  without  raising  her 
eyes  again,  and  he  went. 

Barby  who  had  come  in  to  clear  away  the  table  took  her  stand  at 
the  window  to  watch  Mr.  Carleton  drive  off.  Fleda  had  re 
treated  to  the  fire.  Barby  looked  in  silence  till  the  sleigh  was  out 
of  sight. 

"  Is  he  going  back  to  England  now?"  she  said  coming  back  te 
•ie  table. 

-No." 

Barby  gathered  a  pile  of  plates  together  and  then  enquired, 

'  Is  he  going  to  settle  in  America?" 

"  Why  no,  Barby  !     What  makes  you  ask  such  a  thing?  " 

"  I  thought  he  looked  as  if  he  had  dressed  himself  for  a  cold 
climate,"  said  Barby  dryly. 

Fleda  sat  down  by  Hugh's  easy-chair  and  laid  her  head  on  his 
breast. 

"I  like  your  Mr.  Carleton  very  much,"  Hugh  whispered  after 
awhile. 

Do  you?"  said  Fleda,  a  little  wondering  at  Hugh's  choice  of 
••hat  particular  pronominal  adjective. 

"  Very  much  indeed.     But  he  has  changed,  Fleda?  " 

"  Yes — in  some  things — some  great  things." 


48k 

6  He  says  he  is  coming  again,'1  said  Hugh. 

Fieda's  heart  beat.     She  was  silent. 

"I  am  very  glad,"  repeated  Hugh,  "I  like  him  very  much. 
3ut  you  won't  leave  me,  Fleda, — will  you?'* 

".^eave  you  ?  "  said  Fleda  looking  at  him. 

"Yes,"  said  Hugh  smiling,  and  drawing  her  head  down  again ; 
~  "  I  always  thought  what  he  came  over  here  for.  But  you  wiU 
stay  wi:h  me  while  I  want  you,  Fleda?" 

"While  you  want  me!  "  said  Fleda  again. 

««  Yes. — It  won't  he  long." 

"  What  won't  be  long?  " 

"  I,"  said  Hugh  quietly.  "  Net  long.  I  am  very  glad  I  shal1 
not  leave  you  alone,  tf~ar  Fleda — very  glad! — promise  me  you  will 
not  leave  me  any  more* 

"  Don't  talk  so,  dear  Hugh  !  " 

"But  it  is  true,  Fleda,"  said  Hugh  gently.  "I  know  it.  I 
shan't  be  here  but  a  little  while.  I  am  so  glad  you  are  come 
nome,  dear  Fleda  ! — You  will  not  let  anybody  take  you  away  till  I 
am  gone  first? " 

Fleda  drew  her  arm  close  around  Hugh's  neck  and  was  still, — • 
still  even  to  his  ear, — for  a  good  while.  A  hard  battle  must  be 
fought,  and  she  must  not  be  weak,  for  his  sake  and  for  everybody's 
sake.  Others  of  the  family  had  come  or  were  coming  into  the  room. 
Hugh  waited  till  a  short  breath,  but  freer  drawn,  told  him  he 
might  speak. 

"  Fleda — "  he  whispered. 

"What?" 

"  I  am  very  happy. — I  only  want  your  promise  about  that." 

"  I  can't  talk  to  you,  Hugh." 

"  No,  but  promise  me." 

"What?" 

"  That  you  will  not  let  anybody  take  you  away  while  I  want  you/* 

"  I  am  sure  he  would  not  ask  it,"  said  Fleda,  hiding  her  cheeks 
and  eyes  at  once  in  his  breast. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 
Do  you  think  1  shall  not  love  a  sad  Pamela  as  well  as  a  joyful  ? 

Sr 

MR.  CARLETON  came  back  without  his  mother  ;  she  had  chosen, 
to  put  off  her  voyage  till  spring.  He  took  up  his  quarters  at 
Montepoole,  which,  far  though  it  was,  was  yet  the  nearest  point 
where  his  notions  of  ease  could  have  freedom  enough. 

One  would  have  thought  that  saw  him, — those  most  nearly  con* 
cerned  almost  did  think, — that  in  his  daily  coming  to  Queechy  Mr. 
Carleton  sought  everybody's  pleasure  rather  than  his  own.  He  was 
Fieda's  most  gentle  and  kind  assistant  in  taking  care  of  Hugh,  soon 
dearly  valued  by  the  sick  one,  who  watched  for  and  welcomed  his 
coming  as  a  bright  spot  in  the  day  ;  and  loved  particularly  to  have 
Mr.  Carleton's  hand  do  anything  for  him.  Rather  than  almost  any 
other.  His  mother's  was  too  feeling  ;  Fieda's  Hugh  often  feared 
was  weary  ;  and  his  father's,  though  gentle  to  him  as  to  an  infant, 


182  QUEECHT. 

jret  lacked  the  mind's  training.  And  though  Marion  was  his  sistct 
in  blood,  Guy  was  his  brother  in  better  bonds.  The  deep  blue  eye 
that  little  Fleda  had  admired  Hugh  learned  to  love  and  rest  on 
singularly. 

To  the  rest  of  the  family  Mr.  Carleton's  influence  was  more  sooth 
ing  and  cheering  than  any  cause  besides.  To  all  but  the  head  of 
it.  Even  Mrs.  Rossitur,  after  she  had  once  made  up  her  mind  to 
see  him,  could  not  bear  to  be  absent  when  he  was  in  the  house.  The 
dreaded  contrast  with  old  times  gave  no  pain,  either  to  her  or 
Marion.  Mr.  Carleton  forgot  so  completely  that  there  was  any 
difference  that  they  were  charmed  into  forgetting  it  too.  But  Mr* 
Rossitur' s  pride  lay  deeper,  or  had  been  less  humbled  by  sorrow  ; 
the  recollections  that  his  family  let  slip  never  failed  to  gall  him 
when  Mr.  Carleton  was  present ;  and  if  now  and  then  for  a  moment 
these  were  banished  by  his  guest's  graces  of  mind  and  manner,  the 
next  breath  was  a  sigh  for  the  circles  and  the  pleasures  they  served 
to  recall,  now  seeming  for  ever  lost  to  him.  Mr.  Carleton  per 
ceived  that  his  company  gave  pain  and  not  pleasure  to  his  host  and 
for  that  reason  was  the  less  in  the  house,  and  mads  h;,s  visits  to 
Hugh  at  times  when  Mr.  Rossitur  was  not  in  the  way.  Fleda  he 
took  out  of  the  house  and  away  with  him,  for  her  good  and  his  own. 

To  Fleda  the  old  childish  feeling  came  back,  that  she  was  in 
somebody's  hands  who  had  a  marvellous  happy  way  of  managing 
things  about  her,  and  even  of  managing  herself.  A  kind  of  genial 
atmosphere,  that  was  always  doing  her  good,  yet  so  quietly  and  so 
skilfully  that  she  could  only  now  and  then  get  a  chance  even  to  look 
her  thanks.  Quietly  and  efficiently  he  was  exerting  himself  to  raise 
the  tone  of  her  mind,  to  brighten  her  spirits,  to  reach  those  sober 
lines  that  years  of  patience  had  drawn  round  her  eye  and  mouth, 
and  charm  them  away.  So  gently,  so  directly,  by  efforts  so  wisely 
and  gracefully  aimed,  he  set  about  it,  that  Fleda  did  not  know  what 
he  was  doing  ;  but  he  knew.  He  knew,  when  he  saw  her  brow  un 
bend  and  her  eye  catch  its  old  light  sparkle,  that  his  conversation 
and  the  thoughts  and  interests  with  which  he  was  rousing  her  mind 
or  fancy,  were  working  and  would  work  all  he  pleased.  And 
though  the  next  day  he  might  find  the  old  look  of  patient  gravity 
again,  he  hardly  wished  it  not  there,  for  the  pleasure  of  doing  it 
away.  Hugh's  anxious  question  to  Fleda  had  been  very  uncalled 
for,  and  Fleda' s  assurance  was  well  grounded  ;  that  subject  was 
never  touched  upon. 

Fleda' s  manner  with  Mr.  Carleton  was  peculiar  and  characteris 
tic.  In  the  house,  before  others,  she  was  as  demure  and  reserved 
as  though  he  had  been  a  stranger  ;  she  never  placed  herself  near 
him,  nor  entered  into  conversation  with  him,  unless  when  he  obliged 
her  ;  but  when  they  were  alone  there  was  a  frank  confidence  and 
simplicity  in  her  manner  that  most  happily  answered  the  high-bred 
delicacy  that  had  called  it  out. 

One  afternoon  of  a  pleasant  day  in  March  Fleda  and  Hugh  were 
sitting  alone  together  in  the  sick  room.  Hugh  was  weaker  than 
usual,  but  not  confined  to  his  bed  ;  he  was  in  his  great  easy-chair 
which  had  been  moved  up-stairs  for  him  again.  Fleda  had  bee» 
repeating  hymns. 

••  You  are  tired,"  Hugh  said. 


qUEECHY.  & 

"No—" 

"There's  something  aboirt  you  that  isn't  strong,"  said  Hugto 
fondly.  "  I  wonder  where  is  Mr.  Carleton  to-day,  it  is  very  pleas 
ant,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Very  pleasant,  and  warm  ;  it  is  like  April ;  the  snow  all  went 
off  yesterday,  and  the  ground  is  dry  except  in  spots." 

"  I  wish  he  would  come  and  give  you  a  good  walk.  I  have  no 
ticed  how  you  always  come  back  looking  so  much  brighter  after  on 
of  your  walks  or  rides  with  him." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so,  dear  Hugh?"  said  Fleda  a  little 
Doubled. 

"  Only  my  eyes,"  said  Hugh  smiling.  "It  does  me  as  muck 
good  as  you,  Fleda." 

"  I  never  want  to  go  and  leave  you,  Hugh." 

14  I  am  very  glad  there  is  somebody  to  take  you.  I  wish  he  would 
come.  You  want  it  this  minute." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  let  him  take  me  if  he  comes." 

"  Whither  ?  and  whom  ?  "  said  another  voice. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  were  there,  sir,"  saia  Fleda  suddenly  rising. 

"  I  am  but  just  here — Rolf  admitted  mt  as  he  passed  out." 

Coming  in  between  them  and  still  holding  the  hand  of  one  Mr. 
Carleton  bent  down  toward  the  other. 

"  How  is  Hugh  to-day  ?" 

It  was  pleasant  to  see,  that  meeting  of  eyes, — the  grave  kindliness 
on  the  one  side,  the  confidence  affection  on  the  other.  But  the 
wasted  features  said  as  plainly  as  the  tone  of  Hugh's  gentle  reply, 
that  he  was  passing  away, — fast. 

"  What  shall  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Take  Fleda  out  and  give  her  a  good  walk.     She  wants  it." 

"  I  will,  presently.    You  are  weary — what  shall  I  do  to  rest  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing — "  said  Hugh,  closing  his  eyes  with  a  very  placid 
look  ; — "unless  you  will  put  me  in  mind  of  something  about  heaven, 
Mr.  Carleton." 

"  Shall  I  read  to  you  ? — Baxter, — or  something  else  ?  " 

"  No — just  give  me  something  to  think  of  while  you're  gone, — as 
you  have  done  before,  Mr.  Carleton." 

"  I  will  give  you  two  or  three  of  the  Bible  bits  on  that  subject ; 
they  are  but  hints  and  indications  you  know — rather  rays  of  light 
lhat  stream  out  from  the  place  than  any  description  of  it  ;  but  you 
have  only  to  follow  one  of  these  indications  and  see  whither  it  wilf 
lead  you.  The  first  I  recollect  is  *hat  one  spoken  to  Abraham3 
'  Fear  not — I  am  thy  shield,  and  thy  exceeding  great  reward.'  ' 

"  Don't  go  any  further,  Mr.  Carieton,'  said  Hugh  with  a  smile. 
"  Fleda — do  you  remember?" 

They  sat  all  silent,  quite  silent,  all  three,  for  nobody  knew  how 
long. 

"You  were  going  to  walk,"  said  Hugh  without  looking  at 
them. 

Fleda  however  did  not  move  till  a  word  or  two  from  Mr.  Carle- 
ton  had  backed  Hugh's  request  ;  then  she  went. 

"  Is  she  gone?"  said  Hugh.  "  Mr.  Carleton,  will  you  hand  me 
that  little  desk." 

It  was  his  own.     Mr.  Carleton  brought  it.     Hugh  opened  it  and 


(jUEKCUY. 

took  out  a  folded  paper  whicn  ne  gave  to  Mr.  Carleton,  saying  thai 
he  thought  he  ought  to  have  it. 

"  Do  you  know  the  handwriting,  sir  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Ah  she  has  scratched  it  so.     It  is  Fleda's." 

Hugh  shut  his  eyes  again  and  Mr.  Carleton  seeing  that  he  had 
settled  himself  to  sleep  went  to  the  window  with  the  paper.  It 
hardly  told  him  anything  he  did  not  know  before,  though  se?  in  a 
^sh  light. 

«  Cold  blew  the  east  wind 
And  thick  fell  the  rain, 
I  looked  for  the  tops 
Of  the  mountains  in  vain; 
Twilight  was  gathering 
And  dark  grew  the  west, 
And  the  woodfire's  crackling 
Toned  well  with  the  rest. 

w  Speak  fire  and  tell  me— 

Thy  flickering  flame 

Fell  on  me  in  years  past — 

Say,  am  I  the  same  ? 

Has  my  face  the  same  brightness 

In  those  days  it  wore  ? — 

My  foot  the  same  lightness 

As  it  crosses  the  floor  ? 

"  Methinks  there  are  changes— 
I  am  weary  to-night, — 
I  once  was  as  tireless 
As  the  bird  on  her  flight ; 
My  bark  in  full  measure 
Threw  foam  from  the  prow  ;— 
Not  even  for  pleasure 
Would  I  care  to  move  now. 

«  Tis  not  the  foot  only 
That  lieth  thus  still,— 
I  am  weary  in  spirit, 
I  am  listless  in  will. 
My  eye  vainly  peereth 
Through  the  darkness,  to  find 
Some  object  that  cheereth— 
Some  light  for  the  mind. 

"  What  shadows  come  c  "er  me— o 

What  things  of  the  past, — 

Bright  things  of  my  childhood 

That  fled  ail  too  fast ; 

The  scenes  where  light  roaming 

My  foot  wandered  free, 

Come  back  through  the  gloamiaW, 

Come  all  back  to  me, 


QUEECHT.  485 

44  The  cool  autumn  evening, 
The  fair  summer  morn, — 
The  dress  and  the  aspect 
Some  dear  ones  have  worn,— 
The  sunshiny  places — 
The  shady  hill-side— 
The  words  and  the  faces 
That  might  not  abide. — 

"  Die  out  little  fire- 
Ay,  blacken  and  pine  !— • 
So  have  paled  many  lights 
That  were  brighter  than  thine. 
*  I  can  quicken  thy  embers 

Again  with  a  breath, 
But  the  others  lie  cold 
In  the  ashes  of  death." 

Mr.  Carleton  had  read  near  through  the  paper  before  Fleda  came 
in. 

"  I  have  kept  you  a  long  time  Mr.  Carleton,"  she  said  coming 
up  to  the  window ;  "  I  found  aunt  Lucy  wanted  me." 

But  she  saw  with  a  little  surprise  the  deepening  eye  which  met 
her,  and  which  showed,  she  knew,  the  working  of  strong  feeling. 
Her  own  eye  went  to  the  paper  in  search  of  explanation. 

"  What  have  you  there? — Oh,  Mr.  Carleton,"  she  said  putting 
her  hand  over  it, — "  please  to  give  it  to  me  !  " 

Fleda's  face  was  very  much  in  earnest.  He  took  the  hand  but 
did  not  give  her  the  paper,  and  looked  his  refusal. 

"  I  am  ashamed  you  should  see  that ! — Who  gave  it  to  you  ?  " 

"  You  shall  wreak  your  displeasure  on  no  one  but  me,"  he  said 
smiling. 

"  But  have  you  read  it  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  !  " 

"  I  am  very  glad,  my  dear  Elfie." 

"  You  will  think — you  will  think  what  wasn't  true, — it  was  just  a 
mood  I  used  to  get  into  once  in  a  while — I  used  to  be  angry  with  my 
self  for  it,  but  I  could  not  help  it — one  of  those  listless  fits  would 
ake  me  now  and  then — " 

"  I  understand  it,  Elfie." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  you  should  know  I  ever  felt  or  wrote  so." 

"Why?" 

"  It  was  very  foolish  and  wrong — " 

"  Is  that  a  reason  for  my  not  knowing  it  ?  " 

"  No — not  a  good  one — But  you  have  read  it  now, — won't  you  let 
me  have  it  ?  " 

«•  No— I  shall  ask  for  all  the  rest  of  the  portfolio,  Elfie,"  he  said 
as  he  put  it  in  a  place  of  security. 

"  Pray  do  not!  "  said  Fleda  most  unaffectedly. 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  remember  Mrs.  Carleton  says  you  always  have  what 
you  ask  for." 


486  QUEECE1T. 

"Give  me  permission  to  put  on  your  bonnet,  then/'  said  he 
laughingly,  taking  it  from  her  hand. 

The  air  was  very  sweet,  the  footing  pleasant.  The  first  few  steps 
of  the  walk  were  made  by  Fleda  in  silence,  with  eager  breath  and 
foot  that  grew  lighter  as  it  trod. 

"  I  don't  think  it  was  a  right  mood  of  mind  I  had  when  I  wrote 
that,"  she  said.  "  It  was  morbid.  But  I  couldn't  help  it. — Yet  if 
one  could  keep  possession  of  those  words  you  quoted  just  now,  I 
suppose  one  never  would  have  morbid  feelings,  Mr.  Carleton?  " 

"  Perhaps  not  ;  but  human  nature  has  a  weak  hold  of  anything,, 
and  many  things  may  make  it  weaker." 

"Mine  is  weak,"  said  Fleda.  "But  it  is  possible  to  keep  firm 
hold  of  those  words,  Mr.  Carleton  ?  " 

"Yes — by  strength  that  is  not  human  nature's — And  after  all  the 
firm  hold  is  rather  that  in  which  we  are  held,  or  ours  would  soon 
fail.  The  very  hand  that  makes  the  promise  its  own  must  be  nerved 
to  grasp  it.  And  so  it  is  best,  for  it  keeps  us  looking  off  always  t  _> 
the  Author  and  Finisher  of  our  faith." 

"I  love  those  words,"  said  Fleda.  "But  Mr.  Carleton,  how 
shall  one  be  sure  that  one  has  a  right  to  those  other  words — those  I 
mean  that  you  told  to  Hugh  ?  One  cannot  take  the  comfort  of  them 
unless  one  is  sure" 

Her  voice  trembled. 

"My  dear  Elfie,  the  promises  have  many  of  them  their  double — 
stamped  with  the  very  same  signet — and  if  that  sealed  counterpart 
is  your  own,  it  is  the  sure  earnest  and  title  to  the  whole  value  of  the 
promise." 

"  Well — in  this  case  ?  "  said  Fleda  eagerly. 

"  In  this  case, — God  says,  '  I  am  thy  shield,  and  thy  exceeding 
great  reward.'  Now  see  if  your  own  heart  can  give  the  counter 
sign, —  '  Thou  art  my  portion,  O  Lord!  ' 

Fleda's  head  sank  instantly  and  almost  lay  upon  his  arm. 

"  If  you  have  the  one,  my  dear  Elfie,  the  other  is  yours — it  is  the 
note  of  hand  of  the  maker  of  the  promise — sure  to  be  honored. 
And  if  you  want  proof  here  it  is, — and  a  threefold  cord  is  not  soon 
broken. — '  Because  he  hath  set  his  love  upon  me,  therefore  will  I 
deliver  him :  I  will  set  him  on  high,  because  he  hath  known  my 
name.  He  shall  call  upon  me,  and  I  will  answer  him  ;  I  will  be 
with  him  in  trouble  ;  I  will  deliver  him,  and  honor  him.  With  long 
Hfe  will  I  satisfy  him,  and  show  him  my  salvation.'  " 

There  was  a  pause  of  some  length.  Fleda  had  lifted  up  her 
head,  but  walked  along  very  quietly,  not  seeming  to  care  to  speak. 

"  Have  you  the  countersign,  Elfie?  " 

Fleda  flashed  a  look  at  him,  and  only  restrained  herself  from 
weeping  again. 

<«  Yes. — But  so  I  had  then,  Mr.  Carleton — only  sometimes  I  got 
those  fits  of  feeling — I  forgot  it,  I  suppose." 

"  When  were  these* verses  written  ?  " 

"  Last  fall  ; — uncle  Rolf  was  away,  and  aunt  Lucy  unhappy, — 
and  I  believe  I  was  tired — I  suppose  it  was  that." 

For  a  matter  of  several  rods  each  was  busy  with  his  own  mu§« 
ings.  But  Mr.  Carleton  bethought  himself 

"  Where  are  you.  " 


qUEECHY.  487 

"Where  am  I?" 

"  Yes— Not  at  Queechy  ?  " 

"  No  indeed,"  said  Fleda  laughing.     "  Far  enough  away." 

••Where?" 

"At  Paris — at  the  Marche  des  Innocens." 

4t  How  did  you  get  to  Paris  ?  " 

"I  don't  know — by  a  bridge  of  associations,  I  suppose,  resting 
one  end  on  last  year,  and  the  other  on  the  time  when  I  was  eleven 
years  old." 

51  Very  intelligible,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  smiling. 

"Do  you  remember  that  morning,  Mr.  Carleton? — when  yo« 
took  Hugh  and  me  to  the  Marche  des  Innocens?  " 

"  Perfectly." 

"  I  have  thanked  you  a  great  many  times  since  tor  getting  up  so 
early  that  morning." 

"  I  think  I  was  well  paid  at  the  time.  I  remember  I  thought  I 
had  seen  one  of  the  prettiest  sights  I  had  ever  seen  in  Paris." 

"So  I  thought!  "  said  Fleda.  "  It  has  been  a  pleasant  picture 
in  my  imagination  ever  since." 

There  was  a  curious  curl  in  the  corners  of  Mr.  Carleton's  mouth 
which  made  Fleda  look  an  enquiry — a  look  so  innocently  wistful 
that  his  gravity  gave  way. 

"My  dear  Elfie  !  "  said  he,  "  you  are  the  very  child  you  were 
then." 

"  Am  I  ?  "  said  Fleda.  "  I  dare  say  I  am,  for  I  feel  so.  I  have 
the  very  same  feeling  I  used  to  have  then,  that  I  am  a  child,  an^ 
you  taking  the  care  of  me  into  your  own  hands." 

"  One  half  of  that  is  true,  and  the  other  half  nearly  so." 

"  How  good  you  always  were  to  me  !  "  Fleda  said  with  a  sigh. 

"  Not  necessary  to  balance  the  deb^pr  and  creditor  items  on  both 
sides,"  he  said  with  a  smile,  "as  the  account  bids  fair  to  run  a 
good  while." 

A  silence  again,  during  which  Fleda  is  clearly  not  enjoying  ihf 
landscape  nor  the  fine  weather. 

"  Elfie, — what  are  you  meditating  ?  " 

She  came  back  from  her  meditations  with  a  very  frank  look. 

"  I  was  thinking, — Mr.  Carleton, — of  your  notions  about  femal* 
education." 

"Well?—" 

They  had  paused  upon  a  rising  ground.  Fleda  hesitated,  and 
Jhen  looked  up  in  his  face. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  me  wanting,  and  when  you  do,  will 
you  put  me  in  the  way  of  being  all  you  wish  me  to  be  ?  " 

Her  look  was  ingenuous  and  tender,  equally.     He  gave  her  no 
answer,  except  by   the  eye  of  grave  intentness  that  fixed  hers  till 
she  could  meet  it  no  longer  and  her  own  fell.     Mr.  Carleton  recol 
lected  himself. 

"My  dear  Elfie/'  said  he,  and  whatever  the  look  had  meant 
Elfie  was  at  no  loss  for  the  tone  now — "  what  do  you  consider 
yourself  deficient  in?" 

Fleda  spoke  with  a  little  difficulty. 

"  I  am  afraid  in  a  good  many  things — in  general  reading, — and 
In  what  are  called  accomplishments—" 


488 

'You  shall  read  as  much  as  you  please  by  and  by,"  said  he : 
•'  provided  you  will  let  me  read  with  you  ;  and  as  for  the  other 
want,  Elfie,  it  is  rather  a  source  of  gratification  to  me." 

Elfie  very  naturally  asked  why  ? 

"  Because  as  soon  as  I  have  the  power  I  shall  immediately  con 
stitute  myself  your  master  in  the  arts  of  riding  and  drawing,  and 
in  any  other  art  or  acquisition  you  may  take  a  fancy  to,  and  give 
you  lessons  diligently." 

"  And  will  there  be  gratification  in  that?  "  said  Fleda. 

His  answer  was  by  a  smile.     But  he  somewhat  mischievous 
asked  her,  "  Will  there  not  ? "— and  Fleda  was  quiet. 


CHAPTER  L 

Friends,  I«orrow  not  to  leave  ye ; 

If  this  life  an  exile  be, 
We  who  leave  it  do  but  journey 

Homeward  to  our  family. 

SPANISH  BALLAD 

THE  first  of  April  came. 

Mr.  Rossitur  had  made  up  his  mind  not  to  abide  at  Queechy, 
which  only  held  him  now  by  the  frail  thread  of  Hugh's  life.  Mr. 
Carleton  knew  this,  and  had  even  taken  some  steps  toward  secur 
ing  for  him  a  situation  in  the  West  Indies.  But  it  was  unknown  to 
Fleda ;  she  had  not  heard  her  uncle  say  anything  on  the  subject 
since  she  came  home  ;  and  though  aware  that  their  stay  was  a 
doubtful  matter  she  still  thought  it  might  be  as  well  to  have  the 
garden  in  order.  Philetus  could  not  be  trusted  to  do  everything 
wisely  of  his  own  head,  and  even  some  delicate  jobs  of  hand  could 
not  be  safely  left  to  his  skill;  if  the  garden  was  to  make  any  head 
way  Fleda's  head  and  hand  must  both  be  there,  she  knew.  So  as 
the  spring  opened  she  used  to  steal  away  from  the  house  every 
morning  for  an  hour  or  two,  hardly  letting  her  friends  know  what 
she  was  afcout,  to  make  sure  that  peas  and  potatoes  and  radishes 
and  lettuce  were  in  the  right  places  at  the  right  times,  and  to  see 
that  the  later  and  more  delicate  vegetables  were  preparing  for.  She 
took  care  to  have  this  business  well  over  before  the  time  that  Mr 
Carleton  ever  arrived  from  the  Pool. 

One  morning  she  was  busy  in  dressing  the  strawberry  beds,  forhj 
mg  up  the  ground  between  the  plants  and  filling  the  vacancies  that 
the  severe  winter  or  some  irregularities  of  fall  dressing  had  made. 
Mr.  Skillcorn  was  rendering  a  somewhat  inefficient  help,  or  perhaps 
amusing  himself  with  seeing  how  she  worked.  The  little  old 
silver-grey  hood  was  bending  down  over  the  strawberries,  and  the 
fork  was  going  at  a  very  energetic  rate. 

"Philetus—" 

"Marm!  " 

"Will  you  bring  me  that  bunch  of  strawberry  plants  that  lies  af 
the  corner  of  the  beds,  in  the  walk? — and  my  trowel?  " 

••  I  wiU!_"  said  Mr.  Skillcorn. 

It  was  another  hand  however  that  brought  them  and  laid  them 
beside  her ;  but  Fleda  very  intent  upon  her  work  and  hidden  under 


qUEECHT.  48tt 

her  close  hood  did  not  find  it  out.  She  went  on  busily  putting  in 
the  plants  as  she  found  room  for  them,  and  just  conscious,  as  she 
thought,  that  Philetus  was  still  standing  at  her  side  she  called  upon 
him  from  time  to  time,  or  merely  stretched  out  her  hand,  for  a  fresh 
plant  as  she  had  occasion  for  it. 

"Philetus,"  she  said  at  length,  raising  her  voice  a  little  that  it 
might  win  to  him  round  the  edge  of  her  hood  without  turning  her 
face, — "  I  wish  you  would  get  the  ground  ready  for  that  other 
planting  of  potatoes — you  needn't  stay  to  help  me  any  longer." 

"  'Tain't  me,  I  guess,"  said  the  voice  of  Philetus  on  the  othei' 
jide  of  her. 

Pleda  looked  in  astonishment  to  make  sure  that  it  really  was  Mr. 
Skillcorn  proceeding  along  the  garden  path  in  that  quarter,  and 
turning  jumped  up  and  dropped  her  trowel  and  fork,  to  have  her 
hands  otherwise  occupied.  Mr.  Skillcorn  walked  off  leisurely 
toward  the  potato  ground,  singing  to  himself  in  a  kind  of  consola 
tory  aside, — 

'*  I  cocked  up  my  beaver,  and  who  but  I ! — 
The  lace  in  my  hat  was  so  gallant  and  so  gay, 
That  I  flourished  like  a  king  in  his  own  coun/ray." 

"There  is  one  of  your  countrymen  that  is  an  odd  variety,  cer 
tainly,"  said  Mr.  Carleton,  looking  after  him  with  a  very  comic 
expression  of  eye. 

"  Is  he  not !  "  said  Fleda.  "  And  hardly  a  common  one.  There 
never  was  a  line  more  mathematically  straight  than  the  course  of 
Philetus' s  ideas ;  they  never  diverge,  I  think,  to  the  right  hand  or 
the  left,  a  jot  from  his  own  self-interest." 

"You  will  be  an  invaluable  help  to  me,  Elfie,  if  you  can  read 
my  English  friends  as  closely." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  not  let  me  come  as  close  to  them,"  said 
Fleda  laughing. 

"  Perhaps  not.  I  shouldn't  like  to  pay  too  high  a  premium  for 
the  knowledge.  How  is  Hugh,  to-day  ?  " 

Fleda  answered  with  a  quick  change  of  look  and  voice  that  he 
was  much  as  usual. 

"My  mother  has  written  me  that  she  will  be  here  by  the  Europa, 
which  is  due  to-morrow — I  must  set  off  for  New  York  this  after 
noon  ;  "therefore  I  came  so  early  to  Queechy." 

Fleda  was  instinctively  pulling  off  her  gardening  gloves,  as  the« 
walked  toward  the  house. 

"  Aunt  Miriam  wants  to  see  you,  Mr.  Carleton — she  begged  1 
would  ask  you  to  come  there  some/time — " 

"With  great  pleasure — shall  we' go  there  now,  Elfie  ?  " 

"  I  will  be  ready  in  five  minutes." 

Mrs.  Rossitur  was  alone  in  the  breakfast-room  when  they  went  in, 
Hugh  she  reported  was  asleep,  and  would  be  juit  ready  to  see 
Mr.  Carleton  by  the  time  they  got  back.  They  stood  a  few  minutes 
talking,  and  then  Fleda  went  to  get  ready. 

Both  pair  of  eyes  followed  her  as  she  left  the  room  and  then 
met  with  perfect  understanding. 

Will    you   give    your  child  to  me,  Mrs.  Rossitur?"  said  the 


490  QUEECHY. 

"With  all  my  heart!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Rossitur  bursting  into 
tears, — "  even  if  I  were  left  alone  entirely — " 

Her  agitation  was  uncontrolled  for  a  minute,  and  then  she  said, 
with  feeling  seemingly  too  strong  to  be  kept  in, 

"  If  I  were  only  sure  of  meeting  her  in  heaven,  I  could  be  con 
tent  to  be  without  her  till  then  ! — 

"What  is  in  the  way,  my  dear  madam?"  said  Mr.  Carleton, 
with  a  gentle  sympathy  that  touched  the  very  spring  he  meant  it 
should.  Mrs.  Rossitur  waited  a  minute  but  it  was  only  t411  tears 
would  let  her  speak,  and  then  said  like  a  child, — 

"  Oh,  it  is  all  darkness  ! — " 

"  Except  this,"  said  he,  gently  and  clearly,  "  that  Jesus  Christ  it 
a  sun  and  a  shield  ;  and  those  that  put  themselves  at  his  feet  are 
safe  from  all  fear,  and  they  who  go  to  him  for  light  shall  complain 
of  darkness  no  more." 

"  But  I  do  not  know  how — " 

"  Ask  him  and  he  will  tell  you." 

"But  I  am  unworthy  even  to  look  up  toward  him,"  said  Mrs. 
Rossitur,  struggling,  it  seemed,  between  doubts  and  wishes. 

"He  knows  that,  and  yet  he  has  bid  you  come  to  him.  He 
knows  that, — and  knowing  it,  he  has  taken  your  responsibility  and 
paid  your  de*bt,  and  offers  you  now  a  clean  discharge,  if  you  will 
take  it  at  his  hand  ; — and  for  the  other  part  of  this  unworthiness, 
that  blood  cannot  do  away,  blood  has  brought  the  remedy — 
'  Shall  we  who  are  evil  give  good  things  to  our  children,  and 
shall  not  our  Father  which  is  in  heaven  give  his  Holy  Spirit  to 
them  that  ask  him  ? '  " 

"But  must  I  do  nothing?"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur,  when  she  had 
remained  quiet  with  her  face  in  her  hands  for  a  minute  or  two 
after  he  had  done  speaking. 

"Nothing  but  be  willing — be  willing  to  have  Christ  in  all  his 
offices,  as  your  Teacher,  your  King,  and  your  Redeemer— give 
yourself  to  him,  dear  Mrs.  Rossitur,  and  he  will  take  care  of  the 
rest." 

"  I  am  willing  !  "  she  exclaimed.  Fresh  tears  came,  and  came 
freely.  Mr.  Carleton  said  no  more,  till  hearing  some  noise  of 
opening  and  shutting  doors  above  stairs  Mrs.  Rossitur  hurriedly 
left  the  room,  and  Fleda  came  in  by  the  other  entrance. 

"May  I  take  you  a  little  out  of  the  way,  Mr.  Carleton?  '  she 
said  when  they  had  passed  through  the  Deepwater  settlement — . 
«'  I  have  a  message  to  carry  to  Mrs.  Elster — a  poor  woman  out 
here  beyond  the  lake.  It  is  not  a  disagreeable  place.' 

"And  what  if  it  were  ?  " 

"  I  should  not  perhaps  have  asked  you  to  go  with  me,"  said 
Fleda  a  little  doubtfully. 

"  You  may  take  me  where,  you  will,  Elfie,"  he  said  gently.  "  I 
hope  to  do  as  much  by  you  some  day." 

Fleda  looked  up  at  the  piece  of  elegance  beside  her,  and 
thought  what  a  change  must  have  come  over  him  if  he  would 
visit  poor  places.  He  was  silent  and  grave  however,  and  so  was 
she,  till  they  arrived  at  the  house  they  were  going  to. 

Certainly  it  was  not  a  disagreeable  place.  Barby's  much  lesi 
•trong-minded  sister  had  at  least  a  good  share  of  her  practical 


QUEECHY.  401 

nicety.  The  little  board  path  to  the  door  was  clean  and  whitt 
still,  with  possibly  a  trifle  less  brilliant  effect.  The  room  and  its 
old  inhabitants  were  very  comfortable  and  tidy  ;  the  patchwork 
counteroane  as  gay  as  ever.  Mrs.  Elster  was  alone,  keeping  com 
pany  with  a  snug  little  wood  fire,  which  was  near  as  much  needed 
in  that  early  spring  weather  as  it  had  been  during  the  winter. 

Mr.  Carleton  had  come  back  from  his  abstraction,  and  stood 
taking  half  unconscious  note  of  these  things,  while  Fleda  was  de 
livering  her  message  to  the  old  woman.  Mrs.  Elster  listened  to  he* 
implicitly  with  every  now  and  then  an  acquiescing  nod  or  ejacula- 
tion,  but  so  soon  as  Fleda  had  said  her  say  she  burst  out,  with  £ 
voice  that  had  never  known  the  mufflings  of  delicacy  and  was  now 
pitched  entirely  beyond  its,  owner's  ken.  Looking  hard  at  Mr,, 
Carleton, 

"  Fleda!— Is  this  the  gentleman  that's  to  be  yom— husband f" 

The  last  word  elevated  and  brought  out  with  emphatic  distinct 
ness  of  utterance. 

If  the  demand  had  been  whether  the  gentleman  in  question 
was  a  follower  of  Mahomet,  it  would  hardly  have  been  more  impos 
sible  for  Fleda  to  give  an  affirmative  answer  ;  but  Mr.  Carleton 
laughed  and  bringing  his  face  a  little  nearer  the  old  crone,  an 
swered, 

"  So  she  has  promised,  ma  am/' 

It  was  curious  to  see  the  lines  of  the  old  woman's  face  relax  as  she 
looked  at  him. 

"  He's — worthy  of  you  ! — as  far  as  looks  goes,"  sh<?  said  in  the 
same  key  as  before,  apostrophizing  Fleda  who  had  drawn  back,  but 
not  stirring  her  eyes  from  Mr.  Carleton  all  the  time.  And  then  she 
added  to  him  with  a  little  satisfied  nod,  and  in  a  very  decided  tone 
of  information, 

"  She  will  make  you  a  good  wife  !  " 

"Because  she  has  made  a  good  friend?"  said  Mr.  Carleton 
quietly.  "  Will  you  let  me  be  a  friend  too?  " 

He  had  turned  the  old  lady's  thoughts  into  a  golden  channel, 
whence,  as  she  was  an  American,  they  had  no  immediate  issue  in 
words  ;  and  Fleda  and  Mr.  Carleton  left  the  house  without  anything 
more. 

Fleda  felt  nervous.     But  Mr.  Carleton's  first  words  were  as  coolly 
and  as  gravely  spoken  as  if  they  had  just  come  out  from  a  philo 
sophical  lecture  ;  and  with  an  immediate  spring  of  relief  she  en 
joyed  every  step  of  the  way  and  every   word  of  the  conversation 
which  was  kept  up  with  great  life,  till  they  reached  Mrs.  Plumfield's 
door. 

No  one  was  in  the  sitting-room.  Fleda  left  Mr.  Carleton  there 
and  passed  gently  into  the  inner  apartment,  the  door  of  which  was 
standing  ajar. 

But  her  heart  absolutely  leaped  into  her  mouth,  for  Dr.  Quacken- 
boss  and  Mr.  Olmney  were  there  on  either  side  of  her  aunt's  bed. 
Fleda  came  forward  and  shook  hands. 

"This  is  quite  a  meeting  of  friends."  said  the  doctor  blandly, 
yet  with  a  perceptible  shading  of  the  whilome  broad  sunshine  of  his 
face. — "Your — a — aunt,  my  dear  Miss  Ringgant«— is  iaamoatftx* 
state  of  mma  «.  '' 


402  QUEECHY: 

Fleda  was  glad  to  hide  her  face  against  her  aunt's  and  asked  hef 
how  she  did. 

"  Dr.  Quackenboss  thinks  it  extraordinary,  Fleda,"  said  the  old 
lady  with  her  usual  cheerful  sedateness, — "that  one  who  has  trusted 
God  and  had  constant  experience  of  his  goodness  and  faithfulness 
for  forty  years  should  not  doubt  him  at  the  end  of  it." 

"  You  have  no  doubt— of  any  kind,  Mrs.  Plumfield  ?  "  said  the 
clergyman. 

"  Not  the  shadow  of  a  doubt !  "  was  the  hearty,  steady  reply. 

"  You  mistake,  my  dear  madam,"  said  Dr.  Quackenboss,—"  par- 
Ion  me — it  is  not  that — I  would  be  understood  to  say,  merely,  that 
I  do  not  comprehend  how  such — a — such  security — can  be  attained 
respecting  what  seems  so— a— elevated— and  difficult  to  know." 

"  Only  by  believing,"  said  Mrs.  Plumfield  with  a  very  calm  smile. 
••  '  He  that  believeth  on  him  shall  not  be  ashamed  ;  '— •  shall  not  be 
ashamed  !  '  "  she  repeated  slowly. 

Dr.  Quackenboss  looked  at  Fleda,  who  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon 
her  aunt. 

"  But  it  seems  to  me— I  beg  pardon— perhaps  I  am  arrogant—" 
he  said  %'iih  a  little  bow, — "  but  it  appears  to  me  almost — in  a  man 
ner — almost  presumptuous,  not  to  be  a  little  doubtful  in  such  a  mat 
ter  until  the  time  comes.  Am  I— do  you  disapprove  of  me,  Mr. 

y*vi  "\  »  f  •  *•  *• 

Olmney  ? 

Mr.  Olmney  silently  referred  him  for  his  answer  to  the  person 
he  had  first  addressed,  who  had  closed  her  eyes  while  he  was  speak 
ing. 

"Sir,"  she  said,  opening  them, — "it  can't  be  presumption  to 
obey  God,  and  he  tells  me  to  rejoice.  And  I  do — I  do !— '  Let 
all  those  that  love  thee  rejoice  in  thee  and  be  glad  in  thee !  ' — But 
mind!"  she  added  energetically,  fixing  her  strong  grey  eye  upon 
him,—"  he  does  not  tell  you  to  rejoice— do  not  think  it— not  while 
you  stand  aloof  from  his  terms  of  peace.  Take  God  at  his  word, 
and  be  happy  ; — but  if  not,  you  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  song 
that  I  sing  !  ' ' 

The  doctor  stared  at  her  till  she  had  done  Sneaking,  and  then 
slunk  out  of  her  range  of  vision  behind  the  curtains  of  the  bed 
post.  Not  silenced  however. 

"But — a — Mr.  Olmney,"  said  he  hesitating — "don't  you  think 
hat  there  is  in  general — a — a  becoming  modesty,  in — a — in  people 
.hat  have  done  wrong,  as  we  all  have,- — putting  off  being  sure 
jntil  they  are  so  ?  It  seems  so  to  me  !" 

"Come  here,  Dr.  Quackenboss,"  said  aunt  Miriam. 

She  waited  till  he  came  to  her  side,  and  then  taking  his  hand 
and  looking  at  him  very  kindly,  she  said, 

"  Sir,  forty  years  ago  I  found  in  the  Bible,  as  you  say,  that  I  was 
a  sinner,  and  that  drove  me  to  look  for  something  else.  I  found 
then  God's  promise  that  if  I  wpuld  give  my  dependence  entirely 
to  the  substitute  he  had  provided  for  me  and  yield  my  heart  to  his 
service,  he  would  for  Christ's  sake  hold  me  quit  of  all  my  debts 
and  be  my  father,  and  make  me  his  child.  And  sir,  I  did  it.  I 
abhor  every  other  dependence — the  things  you  count  good  in  me 
I  reckon  but  filthy  rags.  At  Che  same  time,  1  know  that  ever  since 
that  day,  forty  years  ago,  T  have  lived  in  his  service  and  tried  ts 


QUEECHY.  493 

live  to  his  glory.  And  now  sir,  shall  I  disbelieve  his  promise  ?  do 
you  think  he  would  be  pleased  if  I  did  ? 

The  doctor's  mouth  was  stopped,  for  once.  He  drew  back  as 
soon  as  he  could  and  said  not  another  word. 

Before  anybody  had  broken  the  silence  Seth  came  in  ;  and  after 
shaking  hands  with  Fleda,  startled  her  by  asking  whether  that  was 
not  Mr.  Carleton  in  the  other  room. 

"  Yes,"  Fleda  said, — "  he  came  to  see  aunt  Miriam." 

"  Ain't  you  well  enough  to  see  him,  mother  ?  " 

•'Quite — and  very  happy,"  she  said. 

Seth  immediately  went  back  and  invited  him  in.  Fleda  dared 
not  look  up  while  the  introductions  were  passing, — of  "  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Olmney,"  and  of  "  Dr.  Quackenboss," — the  former  of  whom 
Mr.  Carleton  took  cordially  by  the  hand,  while  Dr.  Quackenboss 
conceiving  that  his  hand  must  be  as  acceptable,  made  his  saluta 
tions  with  an  indescribable  air  at  once  of  attempted  gracefulness 
and  ingratiation.  Fleda  saw  the  whole  in  the  advancing  line  of  the 
doctor's  person,  a  vision  of  which  crossed  her  downcast  eye.  She 
drew  back  then,  for  Mr.  Carleton  came  where  she  was  standing  to 
cake  her  aunt's  hand  ;  Seth  had  absolutely  stayed  his  way  before  to 
make  the  said  introductions. 

Mrs.  Plumfield  was  little  changed  by  years  or  disease  since  he 
had  seen  her.  There  was  somewhat  more  of  a  look  of  bodily 
weakness  than  there  used  to  be  ;  but  the  dignified,  strong-minded 
expression  of  the  face  was  even  heightened  ;  eye  and  brow  were 
more  pure  and  unclouded  in  their  steadfastness.  She  looked  very 
earnestly  at  her  visitor  and  then  with  evident  pleasure  from  the 
manner  of  his  look  and  greeting.  Fleda  watched  her  eye  soften- 
ing  with  a  gratified  expression  and  fixed  upon  him  as  he  was  gently 
talking  to  her. 

Mr.  Olmney  present  came  round  to  take  leave,  promising  to  see 
her  another  time,  and  passing  FJeda  with  a  frank  grave  pressure 
of  the  hand  which  gave  her  some  pain.  He  and  Seth  left  the 
room.  Fleda  was  hardly  conscious  that  Dr.  Quackenboss  was 
still  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  making  the  utmost  use  of  his 
powers  of  observation.  He  could  use  little  else,  for  Mr.  Carleton 
and  Mrs.  Plumfield  after  a  few  words  on  each  side,  had  as  it  were 
by  common  consent  come  to  a  pause.  The  doctor,  when  a  sufficient 
iine  had  made  him  fully  sensible  of  this,  walked  up  to  Fleda,  who 
vished  heartily  at  the  moment  that  she  could  have  presented  the  re 
verse  end  of  the  magnet  to  him.  Perhaps  however  it  was  that  very 
thing  which  by  a  perverse  sort  of  attraction  drew  him  toward  her. 

"  I  suppose— a — we  may  conclude,'  '  said  he  with  a  somewhat 
saturnine  expression  of  mischief, — "that  Miss  Ringgan  contem 
plates  forsaking  the  agricultural  line  before  a  great  while." 

"  I  have  not  given  up  my  old  habits,  sir,"  said  Fleda,  a  good 
deal  vexed. 

"  No — I  suppose  not — but  Que^chy  air  is  not  so  well  suited  for 
them — other  skies  will  prove  more  genial,"  he  said  ;  she  could  not 
help  thinking,  pleased  at  her  displeasure. 

"  Whit  is  the  fault  of  Queechy  air,  sir?  "  said  Mr,  Carleton,  ap 
proaching  them. 

*'$>r!"  said  the  doctor,  exceedingly  taken  aback,  though  the 


494  QUEECHY. 

words  had  been  spoken  in  the  quietest  manner  possible, — "  it — a— » 
it  has  no  fault,  sir, — that  I  am  particularly  aware  of — it  is  perfectly 
salubrious.  Mrs.  Plumfield,  1  will  bid  you  good-day  ; — I — a — I 
hope  you  will  get  well  again  !  " 

"  I  hope  not,  sir!  "  aunt  Miriam,  in  the  same  clear  hearty  tones 
v/hich  had  answered  him  before. 

The  doctor  took  his  departure  and  made  capital  of  his  interview 
with  Mr.  Carleton  ;  who  he  affirmed  he  could  tell  by  what  he  had 
seen  of  him  was  a  very  deciduous  character,  and  not  always  coiv 
ciliating  in  his  manners. 

Fleda  waited  with  a  little  anxiety  for  what  was  to  follow  the  dott 
tor's  leave-taking. 

It  was  with  a  very  softened  eye  that  aunt  Miriam  looked  at  the 
two  who  were  left,  clasping  Fleda's  hand  again  ;  and  it  was  with  a 
very  softened  voice  that  she  next  spoke. 

"  Do  you  remember  our  last  meeting,  sir?  " 

"  I  remember  it  well,"  he  said. 

"  Fleda  tells  me  you  are  a  changed  man  since  that  time  ? ' 

He  answered  only  by  a  slight  and  grave  bow. 

"  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  the  old  lady, — "  I  am  a  dying  woman — 
and  this  child  is  the  dearest  thing  in  the  world  to  me  after  my 
own.^and  hardly  after  him. — Will  you  pardon  me — will  you  bear 
with  me,  if  that  I  may  die  in  peace,  I  say,  sir,  what  else  it  would 
not  become  me  to  say  ? — and  it  is  for  her  sake." 

".Speak  to  me  freely  as  you  would  to  her,"  he  said  with  a  look 
that  gave  her  full  permission. 

Fleda  had  drawn  close  and  hid  her  face  in  her  aunt's  neck 
Aunt  Miriam's  hand  moved  fondly  over  her  cheek  and  brow  for  a 
minute  or  two  in  silence  ;  her  eye  resting  there  too. 

"  Mr.  Carleton,  this  child  is  to  belong  to  you — how  will  you  guide 
her  ? ' ' 

"  By  the  gentlest  paths,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 

A  whispered  remonstrance  from  Fleda  to  ber  aunt  had  no 
effect. 

"Will  her  best  interests  be  safe  in  your  hands?  " 

"  How  shall  I  resolve  you  of  that,  Mrs.  Plumfield  ?  "  he  said 
gravely. 

"  Will  you  help  her  to  mind  her  mother's  prayer  and  keep  her 
Self  unspotted  from  the  world  ?  " 

"  As  I  trust  she  will  help  me." 

A  rogue  may  answer  questions,  but  an  eye  that  has  never  known 
the  shadow  of  double-dealing  makes  no  doubtful  discoveries  of  it 
self.  Mrs.  Plumfield  read  it  and  gave  it  her  very  thorough  re« 
spect. 

"  Mr.  Carleton — pardon  me,  sir, — I  do  not  doubt  you — but  I  re 
member  hearing  long  ago  that  you  were  rich  and  great  in  the  world 
- — it  is  dangerous  for  a  Christian  to  be  so — Can  she  keep  in  your 
grandeur  the  simplicity  of  heart  and  life  she  had  at  Queechy  ?  " 

"  May  I  remind  you  of  your  own  words,  my  dear  madam  ?  By 
the  blessing  of  God  all  things  are  possible.  These  things  you 
speak  of  are  not  in  themselves  evil  ;  if  the  mind  be  set  on  some 
what  .else,  they  arc  little  beside  a  larger  storehouse  of  material  to 
jr«rk  with — an  increased  stewardship  to  account  for." 


QUEECHT.  4to 

"She  has  been  taking  care  of  others  all  her  life,"  said  aunt 
Miriam  tenderly; — "it  is  time  she  was  taken  care  of ;  and  these 
feet  are  very  unfit  for  rough  paths  ;  but  I  would  rather  she  should 
go  on  struggling  as  she  has  done  with  difficulties  and  live  and  die 
in  poverty,  than  that  the  lustre  of  her  heavenly  inheritance  should 
be  tarnished  everi  a  little. — I  would,  my  darling  !  — 

"  But  the  alternative  is  not  so,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  with  gentle 
grace,  touching  Fleda's  hand  who  he  saw  was  a  good  deal  disturbed, 
11  Do  not  make  her  afraid  of  me,  Mrs.  Plumfield." 

"  I  do  not  believe  I  need,"  said  aunt  Miriam,  "  and  I  am  sure  L 
could  not, — but  sir,  you  will  forgive  me?  " 

"  No  madam — that  is  not  possible." 

"One  cannot  stand  where  I  do,"  said  the  old  lady,  "without 
learning  a  little  the  comparative  value  of  things  ;  and  I  seek  my 
child's  good, — that  is  my  excuse.  I  could  not  be  satisfied  to  take 
her  testimony — " 

"  Take  mine,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Carleton.  "  I  have  learned  the 
comparative  value  of  things  too  ;  and  I  will  guard  her  highest  in 
terests  as  carefully  as  I  will  every  other — as  earnestly  as  you  can 
desire." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  old  lady  gratefully.  "  I  am  sure  of 
it.  I  shall  leave  her  in  good  hands.  I  wanted  this  assurance.  And 
if  ever  there  was  a  tender  plant  that  was  not  fitted  to  grow  on  the 
rough  side  of  the  world — I  think  this  is  one,"  said  she,  kissing 
earnestly  the  face  that  yet  Fleda  did  not  dare  to  lift  up. 

Mr.  Carleton  did  not  say  what  he  thought.  He  presently  took 
kind  leave  of  the  old  lady  and  went  into  the  next  room,  where  Fleda 
soon  rejoined  him  and  they  set  off  homeward. 

Fleda  was  quietly  crying  all  the  way  down  the  hill.  At  the  foot 
of  the  hill  Mr.  Carleton  resolutely  slackened  his  pace. 

"I  have  one  consolation,"  he  said,  "my  dear  Elfie, — you  will 
have  the  less  to  leave  for  me." 

She  put  her  hand  with  a  quick  motion  upon  his,  and  roused  her' 
self. 

"  She  is  a  beautiful  rebuke  to  unbelief.  But  she  is  hardly  to  be 
mourned  for,  Elfie." 

'  Oh  I  was  not  crying  for  aunt  Miriam,"  said  Fleda. 
'  For  what  then  ?  "  he  said  gently. 

•  Myself." 

•That  needs  explanation,"  he  said  in  the  same  tone.  "  Let  me 
ftave  it,  Elfie." 

14  O — I  was  thinking  of  several  things,"  said  Fleda,  not  exactly 
wishing  to  give  the  explanation. 

"  Too  vague,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  smiling.  "  Trust  me  with  a  lit 
tle  more  of  your  mind,  Elfie." 

Fleda  glanced  up  at  him,  half  smiling,  and  yet  with  filling  eyes, 
and  then  as  usual,  yielded  to  the  winning  power  of  the  look  that 
met  her. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  she  said,  keeping  her  head  carefully  down, — 
"  of  some  of  the  things  you  and  aunt  Miriam  were  saying  just  now, 
— and — how  good  for  nothing  I  am." 

"  In  what  respect  ?  "  said  Mr.  Carleton  with  praiseworthy  gravity. 

Fleda  hesitated  and  he  pressed  the  matter  no  further  ;  but  more 


49S  QUEECHY. 

unwilling  to  displease  him  than  herself  she  presently  went  en,  with 
some  difficulty  ;  wording  what  she  had  to  say  with  as  much  care 
as  she  could. 

"  I  was  thinking — how  gratitude — or  not  gratitude  alone — -but  how 
one  can  be  full  of  the  desire  to  please  another, — a  fellow-creature, — 
and  find  it  constantly  easy  to  do  or  bear  anything  for  that  purpose  ; 
and  how  slowly  and  coldly  duty  has  to  move  along  in  the  direction 
where  it  should  be  the  swiftest  and  warmest." 

She  knew  he  would  take  her  words  as  simply  as  she  said  them  ; 
she  was  not  disappointed.  He  was  silent  a  minute  and  then  said 
gravely, 

"  Is  this  a  late  discovery,  Elfie  !  " 

"  No — only  I  was  realizing  it  strongly  just  now." 

"  It  is  a  complaint  we  may  all  make.  The  remedy  is,  not  to  lov( 
less  what  we  know,  but  to  know  better  that  of  which  we  are  in  ig 
norance.  We  will  be  helps  and  not  hindrances  to  each  other, 
Elfie." 

"  You  have  said  that  before,"  said  Fleda  still  keeping  her  head 
down. 

"What?" 

"  About  my  being  a  help  to  you !  " 

"  It  will  not  be  the  first  time,"  said  he  smiling, — "  nor  the  second. 
Your  little  hand  first  held  up  a  glass  to  gather  the  scattered  rays  of 
truth  that  could  not  warm  me  into  a  centre  where  they  must  burn." 

"  Very  innocently,"  said  Fleda  with  a  little  unsteady  feeling  of 
voice. 

"  Very  innocently  !  "  said  Mr.  Carleton  smiling.  "  A  veritable 
lens  could  hardly  have  been  more  unconscious  of  its  work  or  more 
pure  of  design." 

"  I  do  not  think  that  was  quite  so  either,  Mr.  Carleton,"  said 
Fleda. 

"It  was  so,  my  dear  Elfie,  and  your  present  speech  is  nothing 
against  it.  This  power  of  example  is  always  unconsciously  wielded  ; 
the  medium  ceases  to  be  clear  so  soon  as  it  is  made  anything  but  a 
medium.  The  bits  of  truth  you  aimed  at  me  wittingly  would  have 
been  nothing  if  they  had  not  come  .through  that  medium." 

"  Then  apparently  one's  prime  efforts  ought  to  be  directed  to  one 
self." 

"  One's  first  efforts,  certainly.  Your  silent  example  was  the  nrat 
fting  that  moved  me." 

"Silent  example!"  said  Fleda  catching  her  breath  a  little. 
"  Mine  ought  to  be  very  good,  for  I  can  never  do  good  in  any  other 
way." 

"  You  used  to  talk  pretty  freely  to  me." 

"It  wasn't  my  fault,  I  am  certain,"  said  Fleda  half  laughing, 
"  Besides,  I  was  sure  of  my  ground.  But  in  general  I  never  can 
speak  to  people  about  what  will  do  them  any  good." 

"Yet  whatever  be  the  power'of  silent  example  there  are  often 
limes  when  a  word  is  of  incalculable  importance." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Fleda  earnestly, — "  I  have  felt  it  very  often, 
find  grieved  that  I  could  not  say  it,  even  at  the  very  moment  when  I 
knew  it  was  wanting." 

"Is  that  right,  Elfie?" 


QUEECHY.  497 

"  No,'*  said  Fleda,  with  quick  watering  eyes, — "  It  is  not  right  at 
ail ; — but  it  is  constitutional  with  me.  I  never  can  talk  to  other  peo 
ple  of  what  concerns  my  own  thoughts  and  feelings." 

"  But  this  concerns  other  people's  thoughts  and  feelings." 

"  Yes,  but  there  is  an  implied  revelation  of  my  own." 

"  Do  you  expect  to  include  me  in  the  denomination  of  '  other 
people '  ?  " 
"  I  don't  know,"  said  Fleda  laughing. 

"  Do  you  wish  it  ?  " 

Fleda  looked  down  and  up,  and  colored,  and  said  she  didnf 
know. 

"  I  will  teach  you,"  said  he  smiling. 

The  rest  of  the  day  by  both  was  given  to  Hugh. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

O  what  is  life  but  a  sum  of  love, 

And  death  but  to  lose  it  all  ? 
Weeds  be  for  thos-:  that  are  left  behind, 

And  not  for  those  that  fall ! 

MlLNBS. 

"  HERE'S  something  come,  Fleda,"  said  Barby  walking  into  the 
sick  room  one  morning  a  few  days  afterward, — "  a  great  bag  of 
something — more  than  you  can  eat  up  in  a  fortnight — it's  for 
Hugh." 

"  It's  extraordinary  that  anybody  should  send  me  a  great  bag  of 
anything  eatable,"  said  Hugh. 

"  Where  did  it  come  from  ?  "  said  Fleda. 

"  Philetus  fetched  it — he  found  it  down  to  Mr.  Sampion's  when 
he  went  with  the  sheep-skins." 

"  How  do  you  know  it's  for  me?"  said  Hugh. 

"  'Cause  it's  written  on,  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff.  I  guess  it's  a  mis* 
take  though." 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Fleda  ;  "  and  what  is  it?  " 

"  O  I  don't  much  think  'twas  meant  for  him,"  said  Barby.  It's 
oysters." 

"  Oysters ! J' 

"  Yes — come  out  and  look  at  'em — you  never  see  such  fine  fellows. 
.:'ve  heerd  say,"  said  Barby  abstractedly  as  Fleda  followed  her  out 
:  nd  she  displayed  to  view  some  magnificent  Ostraceans, — "I've 
heerd  say  that  an  English  shilling  was  worth  two  American  ones, 
but  I  never  understood  it  rightly  till  now." 

To  all  intents  and  purposes  those  were  English  oysters,  and  wortk 
twice  as  much  as  any  others  Fleda  secretly  confessed. 

That  evening,  up  in  the  sick  room, — it  was  quite  evening,  and  all 
the  others  of  the  family  were  taking  rest  or  keeping  Mr.  Rossitur 
company  down  stairs, — Fleda  was  carefully  roasting  some  of  the 
same  oysters  for  Hugh's  supper.  She  had  spread  out  a  glowing  bed 
of  coals  on  the  hearth,  and  there  lay  four  or  five  of  the  big  bivalves, 
snapping  and  sputtering  in  approbation  of  their  quarters  in  a  most 
comfortable  manner  ;  and  Fleda  standing  before  the  fire  tended 
them  with  a  double  kind  of  pleasure.  From  one  friend,  and  for 


498  QUEECHY. 

another,  those  were  most  odorous  oysters.  Hugh  sat  watching  the« 
and  her,  the  same  in  happy  simplicity  that  he  had  been  at  eleven 
years  old. 

"  How  pleasant  those  oysters  smell,"  said  he.  "  Fleda  they  re 
mind  me  so  of  the  time  when  you  and  I  used  to  roast  oysters  in 
Mrs.  Renney's  room  for  lunch — do  you  recollect  ? — and  sometimes 
in  the  evening  when  everybody  was  gone  out,  you  know  ;  and  what 
an  airing  we  used  to  have  to  give  the  dining-room  afterward.  How 
we  used  to  enjoy  them,  Fleda — you  and  I  all  alone." 

"Yes,"  said  Fleda  in  a  tone  of  doubtful  enjoyment.  She  wa£ 
shielding  her  face  with  a  paper  and  making  self-sacrificing  efforts  to 
persuade  a  large  oyster-shell  to  stand  so  on  the  coals  as  to  keep  the 
juice. 

"  Don't !  "  said  Hugh  ; — "  I  would  rather  the  oysters  should  burn 
than  you.  Mr.  Carleton  wouldn't  thank  me  for  letting  you  do  so." 

"  Never  mind  !  "  said  Fleda  arranging  the  oysters  to  her  satisfac 
tion, — "  he  isn't  here  to  see.  Now  Hugh,  my  dear, — these  are  ready 
as  soon  as  I  am." 

"1  am  ready,"  said  Hugh.  "  How  long  it  is  since  we  had  a 
roast  oyster,  Fleda!  " 

"  They  look  good,  don't  they  ?  " 

A  little  stand  was  brought  up  between  them  with  the  bread  and 
butter  and  the  cups  ;  and  Fleda  opened  oysters  and  prepared  tea 
for  Hugh,  with  her  nicest,  gentlest,  busiest  of  hands  ;  making  every 
bit  to  be  twice  as  sweet,  for  her  sympathizing  eyes  and  loving  smile 
and  pleasant  word  commenting.  She  shared  the  meal  with  him, 
but  her  own  part  was  as  slender  as  his  and  much  less  thought  of. 
His  enjoyment  was  what  she  enjoyed,  though  it  was  with  a  sad 
twinge  of  alloy  which  changed  her  face  whenever  it  was  where  he 
could  not  see  it  ;  when  turned  upon  him  it  was  only  bright  and 
affectionate,  and  sometimes  a  little  too  tender ;  but  Fleda  was  too 
good  a  nurse  to  let  that  often  appear. 

"  Mr.  Carleton  did  not  bargain  for  your  opening  his  oysters,  Fleda. 
How  kind  it  was  of  him  to  send  them." 

"Yes." 

"  How  long  will  he  be  gone,  Fleda  !  " 

"  I  don't  know — he  didn't  say.     I  don't  believe  many  days." 

Hugh  was  silent  a  little  while  she  was  putting  away  the  stand  and 
the  oyster-shells.  Then  she  came  and  sat  down  by  him. 

"You  have  burnt  yourself  over  those  things,"  said  he  sorrow 
fully  ; — "  you  shouldn't  have  done  it.  It  is  not  right." 

"  Dear  Hugh,"  said  Fleda  lightly,  laying  her  head  on  his 
shoulder, — "  I  like  to  burn  myself  for  you." 

"  That's  just  the  way  you  have  been  doing  all  your  life." 

"  Hush  !  "  she  said  softly. 

"It  is  true, — for  me  and  for  everybody  else.  It  is  time  you  were 
taken  better  care  of,  dear  Fleda." 

"  Don't  dear  Hugh  !  " 

"  I  am  right  though,"  said  he.  "  You  are  pale  and  worn  now 
with  waiting  upon  me  and  thinking  of  me.  It  is  time  you  were 
gone.  But  I  think  it  is  well  I  am  going  too,  for  what  should  I  do  ii 
the  world  without  you,  Fleda?" 


QUEECHY.  498 

Fleda  was  crying  now,  intensely  though  quietly  ;  but  Hugh  went 
on  with  feeling  as  calm  as  it  was  deep. 

"  What  should  I  have  done  all  these  years? — or  any  of  us?  How 
you  have  tired  yourself  for  everybody — in  the  garden  and  in  the 
kitchen  and  with  Earl  Douglass — how  we  could  let  you  I  don't 
know,  but  I  believe  we  could  not  help  it." 

Fleda  put  her  hand  upon  his  mouth.  But  he  took  it  away  and 
went  on — 

"  How  often  I  have  seen  you  sleeping  all  the  evening  on  the  sofa 
with  a  pale  face,  tired  out — Dear  Fleda,"  said  he  kissing  her  cheek, 
'  I  am  glad  there's  to  be  an  end  put  to  it.  And  all  the  day  you 
went  about  with  such  a  bright  face  that  it  made  mother  and  me 
happy  to  look  at  you  ;  and  I  knew  then,  many  a  time,  it  was  for 
our  sakes — 

"Why  do  you  cry  so,  Fleda?  I  like  to  think  of  it,  and  to  talk 
of  it,  now  that  I  know  you  won't  do  so  any  more.  I  knew  the  whole 
truth,  and  it  went  to  the  bottom  of  my  heart  ;  but  I  could  do  noth 
ing  but  love  you — I  did  that! — Don't  cry  so,  Fleda! — you  ought 
not. — You  have  been  the  sunshine  of  the  house.  My  spirit  never 
was  so  strong  as  yours  ;  I  should  have  been  borne  to  the  ground,  I 
know,  in  all  these  years,  if  it  had  not  been  for  you  ;  and  mother—- 
you  have  b^en  her  life." 

"You  have  been  tired  too,"  Fleda  whispered. 

"Yes  at  the  saw-mill.  And  then  you  would  come  up  there 
through  the  sun  to  look  at  me,  and  your  smile  would  make  me  for 
get  everything  sorrowful  for  the  rest  of  the  day — except  that  I 
couldn't  help  you." 

"  Oh  you  did — you  did — you  helped  me  always,  Hugh." 

"  Not  much.  I  couldn't  help  you  when  you  were  sewing  for  me 
and  father  till  your  fingers  and  eyes  were  aching,  and  you  never 
would  own  that  you  were  anything  but  '  a  little  '  tired — it  made  my 
heart  ache.  Oh  I  knew  it  all,  dear  Fleda. — I  am  very,  very  glad 
that  you  will  have  somebody  to  take  care  of  you  now  that  will  not 
let  you  burn  your  fingers  for  him  or  anybody  else.  It  makes  me 
happy!" 

"  You  make  me  very  unhappy,  dear  Hugh." 

"I  don't  mean  it,"  said  Hugh  tenderly.  "  But  I  don't  believt 
there  is  anybody  else  in  the  world  that  I  could  be  so  satisfied  t<r 
leave  you  with." 

Fleda  made  no  answer  to  that.  She  sat  up  and  tried  to  recover 
herself. 

"  I  hope  he  will  come  back  in  time,"  said  Hugh,  settling  himself 
back  in  the  easy-chair  with  a  weary  look,  and  closing  his  eyes. 

"  In  time  for  what?  " 

"  To  see  me  again." 

"  My  dear  Hugh  ! — he  will  to  be  sure,  I  hope." 

"  He  must  make  haste,"  said  Hugh.  "But  I  want  to  see  him 
again  very  much,  Fleda." 

44  For  anything  in  particular?  " 

41  No— only  because  I  love  him.     I  want  to  see  him  once  more." 

Hugh  slumbered  ;  and  Fleda  by  his  side  wept  tears  of  mixed 
feeling  till  she  was  tired. 


600  QUEECHY. 

Hugh  was  right.  But  nobody  else  knew  it,  and  his  brother  was 
not  sent  for. 

It  was  about  a  week  after  this,  when  one  night  a  horse  and  wagon 
came  up  to  the  back  of  the  house  from  tbe  road,  the  gentleman  who 
bad  been  driving  leading  the  horse.  It  was  late,  long  past  Mr. 
Skillcorn's  usual  hour  of  retiring,  but  some  errand  of  business  had 
kept  him  abroad  and  he  stood  there  looking  on.  The  stars  gave 
light  enough. 

"Can  you  fasten  my  horse  where  he  may  stand  a  little  whiir 
»ir?  without  taking  him  out  ?  " 

"  I  guess  I  can,"  replied  Philetus,  with  reasonable  confidence,- 
•'  if  there's  a  rope's  end  some  place — " 

And  forthwith  he  went  back  into  the  house  to  seek  it.  The  gen 
tleman  patiently  holding  his  horse  meanwhile,  till  he  came  out. 

"  How  is  Mr.  Hugh  to-night !  " 

"  Well — he  ain't  just  so  smart,  they  say,"  responded  Philetus, 
insinuating  the  rope's  end  as  awkwardly  as  possible  among  the 
horse's  head-gear, — "  I  believe  he's  dying." 

Instead  of  going  round  now  to  the  front  of  the  house,  Mr.  Carle- 
fon  knocked  gently  at  the  kitchen  door  and  asked  the  question  anew 
of  Barby. 

"  He's — Come  in,  sir,  if  you  please,"  she  said,  opening  wide  th-' 
door  for  him  to  enter, — "  I'll  tell  'em  you're  here." 
•    "  Do  not  disturb  any  one  for  me,"  said  he. 

"  I  won't  disturb  'em  !  "  said  Barby,  in  a  tone  a  little  though  un 
consciously  significant. 

Mr.  Carleton  neglected  the  chair  she  had  placed  for  him,  and  re 
mained  standing  by  the  mantelpiece,  thinking  of  the  scenes  of  his 
early  introduction  to  that  kitchen.  It  wore  the  same  look  it  had 
done  then;  under  Barby's  rule  it  was  precisely  the  same  thing  it 
had  been  under  Cynthia's.  The  passing  years  seemed  a  dream, 
and  the  passing  generations  of  men  a  vanity,  before  the  old  house 
more  abiding  than  they.  He  stood  thinking  of  the  people  he  had 
seen  gathered  by  that  fireplace  and  the  little  household  fairy  whose 
childish  ministrations  had  given  such  a  beauty  to  the  scene, — when 
a  very  light  step  crossed  the  painted  floor  and  she  was  there  again 
before  him.  She  did  not  speak  a  word  ;  she  stood  still  a  moment 
trying  for  words,  and  then  put  her  hand  upon  Mr.  Carleton's  arm 
ind  gently  drew  him  out  of  the  room  with  her. 

The  family  were  all  gathered  in  the  room  to  which  she  brought 
him.  Mr.  Rossitur,  as  soon  as  he  saw  Mr.  Carleton  come  in, 
shrunk  back  where  he  could  be  a  little  shielded  by  the  bed-post. 
Marion's  face  was  hid  on  the  foot  of  the  bed.  Mrs.  Rossitur  did 
not  move.  Leaving  Mr.  Carleton  on  the  near  side  of  the  bed  Fleda 
went  round  to  the  place  she  seemed  to  have  occupied  before,  a.-: 
Hugh's  right  hand  ;  and  they  were  all  still,  for  he  was  in  a  little 
doze,  lying  with  his  eyes  closed,  and  the  face  as  gently  and  placidly 
sweet  as  it  had  been  in  his  boyhood.  Perhaps  Mr.  Rossitur  looked 
at  it ;  but  no  other  did  just  then,  except  Mr.  Carleton.  His  eye 
rested  nowhere  else.  The  breathing  of  an  infant  could  not  be  more 
gentle  ;  the  far«  of  an  angel  not  more  peacefully  at  rest.  "  So  he 
giveth  his  beloved  sleep," — thought  the  gentleman,  as  he  gaz«d  0» 


QUEECHY.  501 

the  brow  from  which  all  care,  if  care  there  had  ever  been,  seemed 
to  have  taken  flight. 

Not  yet — not  quite  yet ;  for  Hugh  suddenly  opened  his  eyes  and 
without  seeing  anybody  else,  satd, 

11  Father—" 

Mr.  Rossitur  left  the  bed-post  and  came  close  to  where  Fleda 
was  standing,  and  leaning  forward,  touched  his  son's  head,  but  did 
not  speak. 

"  Father — "  said  Hugh,  in  a  voice  so  gentle  that  it  seemed  as  if 
strength  must  be  failing, — "  what  will  you  do  when  you  come  to  lie 
iere  ? " 

Mr.  Rossitur  put  his  hands  to  his  face. 

"  Fathei — I  must  speak  now  if  I  never  did  before — once  I  must 
speak  to  you, — what  will  you  do  when  you  come  to  lie  where  I  do  ? 
— what  will  you  trust  to  ?  " 

The  person  addressed  was  as  motionless  as  a  statue.  Hugh  did 
not  move  his  eyes  from  him. 

"  Father,  I  will  be  a  living  warning  and  example  to  you,  for  I 
know  that  1  shall  live  in  your  memory — you  shall  remember  what  I 
say  to  you — that  Jesus  Christ  is  a  dear  friend  to  those  that  trust  in 
him,  and  if  he  is  not  yours  it  will  be  because  you  will  not  let  trim. 
You  shall  remember  my  testimony,  that  he  can  make  death  sweeter 
than  life — in  his  presence  is  fulness  of  joy — at  his  right  hand  there 
are  pleasures  for  evermore.  He  is  better, — he  is  more  to  me, — 
even  than  you  all,  and  he  will  be  to  you  a  better  friend  than  the 
poor  child  you  are  losing,  though  you  do  not  know  it  now.  It  is  he 
{hat  has  made  my  life  in  this  world  happy — only  he — and  I  have 
jiothing  to  look  to  but  him  in  the  world  I  am  going  to.  But  what 
will  you  do  in  the  hour  of  death,  as  I  am,  if  he  isn't  your  friend, 
father?" 

Mr.  Rossitur' s  frame  swayed,  like  a  tree  that  one  sees  shaken  by 
a  distant  wind,  but  he  said  nothing. 

"  Will  you  remember  me  happily,  father,  if  you  come  to  die  with 
out  having  done  as  I  begged  you  ?  Will  you  think  of  me  in  heaven 
and  not  try  to  come  there  too?  Father,  will  you  be  a  Christian? — 
will  you  not? — for  my  sake — for  little  Hugh's  sake,  as  you  used  to 
all  him?— Father?— " 

Mr.  Rossitur  knelt  down  and  hid  his  face  in  the  coverings  ;  but 
.e  did  not  utter  a  word. 

Hugh's  eye  dwelt  on  him  for  a  moment  with  unspeakable  ex< 
pression,  and  his  lip  trembled.  He  said  no  more  ;  he  closed  his 
eyes  ;  and  for  a  little  time  there  was  nothing  to  be  heard  but  the 
sobs  which  could  not  be  restrained,  from  all  but  the  two  gentlemen. 
It  probably  oppressed  Hugh,  for  after  a  while  he  said  with  a  weary 
sigh  and  without  opening  his  eyes, 

"  I  wish  somebody  would  sing." 

Nobody  answered  at  first 

"Sing  what,  dear  Hugh?"  said  Fleda,  putting  aside  her  tears 
and  leaning  her  face  toward  him. 

"Something  that  speaks  of  my  want,"  said  Hugh. 

"  What  do  you  want,  dear  Hugh?  " 

"Only  Jesus  Christ,"  he  said  with  a  half  smile. 

But  they  \vere  silent  as  death.     Fleda1  s  face  was  in  her  hands 


502  QUEECHY. 

and  her  utmost  efforts  after  self-control  wrought  nothing  but  tears, 
The  stillness  had  lasted  a  little  while,  when  very  softly  and  sweetly 
the  notes  of  a  hymn  floated  to  their  ears,  and  though  they  floated 
on  and  filled  the  room,  the  voice  was  so  nicely  modulated  that  its 
waves  of  sweetness  broke  gently  upon  the  nearest  ear. 

"  Jesus,  the  sinner's  friend,  to  Thee 
Lost  and  undone,  for  aid  I  flee ; 
Weary  of  earth,  myself,  and  sin, 
Open  thine  arms  and  take  me  in. 

Pity  and  save  my  sin-sick  soul, — 
'Tis  thou  alone  canst  make  me  whole; 
Dark,  till  in  me  thine  image  shine, 
And  lost  I  am,  till  thou  art  mine. 

•«  At  length  I  own  it  cannot  be, 
That  I  should  fit  myself  for  thee, 
Here  now  to  thee  I  all  resign, — 
Thine  is  the  work,  and  only  thine. 

"What  shall  I  say  thy  grace  to  move  fc— 
Lord,  I  am  sin,  but  thou  art  love ! 
I  give  up  every  plea  beside, — 
Lord,  I  am  lost, — but  thou  hast  died !  " 

They  were  still  again  after  the  voice  had  ceased  ;  almost  per 
fectly  still ;  though  tears  might  be  pouring,  as  indeed  they  were 
from  every  eye,  there  was  no  break  to  the  silence,  other  than  a  half- 
caught  sob  now  and  then  from  a  kneeling  figure  whose  head  was  in 
Marion's  lap. 

"  Who  was  that?  "  said  Hugh,  when  the  singer  had  been  silent 
a  minute. 

Nobody  answered  immediately  ;  and  then  Mr.  Carleton  bending 
over  him,  said, 

"  Don't  you  know  me,  dear  Hugh  ?  " 

"  Is  it  Mr.  Carleton?  " 

Hugh  looked  pleased,  and  clasped  both  of  his  hands  upon  Guy's 
which  he  laid  upon  his  breast.  For  a  second  he  closed  his  eyes 
and  was  silent. 

"  Was  it  you  sang  ?  " 

<"  Yes." 

"  You  never  sang  for  me  before,"  he  remarked. 

He  was  silent  again. 

"  Are  you  going  to  take  Fleda  away  ?  " 

01  By  and  by,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  gently. 

"  Will  you  take  good  care  of  her  ?  " 

Mr.  Carleton  hesitated,  and  then  said,  so  low  that  it  could  reach 
but  one  other  person's  ear, 

"  What  hand  and  life  can." 

"  I  know  it,"   said  Hugh.     "  I  am  very  glad  you  will  have  her 
You  will  not  let  her  tire  herself  any  more." 

Whatever  became  of  Fleda' s  tears  she  had  driven  them  away 
and  leaning  forward  she  touched  her  cheek  to  his,  saying  with  a 


QUEECHY.  603 

clearness  and  sweetness  ot  voice  that  only  intensity  of  feeling  could 
have  given  her  at  the  moment, 

"  I  am  not  tired,  dear  Hugh."   ' 

Hugh  clasped  one  arm  round  her  neck  and  kissed  her — again 
and  again,  seeming  unable  to  say  anything  to  her  in  any  other  way  ; 
still  keeping  his  hold  of  Mr.  Carleton's  hand. 

"I  give  all  my  part  of  her  to  you,"  he  said  at  length  "Mr. 
Carleton,  I  shall  see  both  of  you  in  heaven  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so,"  was  the  answer,  in  those  very  calm  and  clear  tones 
that  have  a  singular  effect  in  quieting  emotion,  while  they  indicate 
anything  but  the  want  of  it. 

"  I  am  the  best  off  of  you  all,"  Hugh  said. 

He  lay  still  for  awhile  with  shut  eyes.  Fleda  had  withdrawn  her 
self  from  his  arms  and  stood  at  his  side,  with  a  bowed  head,  but 
perfectly  quiet.  He  still  held  Mr.  Carleton's  hand,  as  something  he 
did  not  want  to  part  with. 

"  Fleda,"  said  he,  "who  is  that  crying  ?— Mother— come  here.*' 

Mr.  Carleton  gave  place  to  her.  Hugh  pulled  her  down  to  him 
till  her  face  lay  upon  his,  and  folded  both  his  arms  around  her. 

"Mother,"  he  said  softly,  "  will  you  meet  me  in  heaven ? — say 
yes." 

"  How  can  I,  dear  Hugh  ?  " 

"  You  can,  dear  mother,"  said  he  kissing  her  with  exceeding 
tenderness  of  expression, — "  my  Savior  will  be  yours  and  take  you 
there.  Say  you  will  give  yourself  to  Christ — dear  mother  ! — sweet 
mother! — promise  me  I  shall  see  you  again  ! — " 

Mrs.  Rossitur's  weeping  it  was  difficult  to  hear.  But  Hugh 
hardly  shedding  a  tear  still  kissed  her,  repeating,  "  Promise  me, 
dear  mother — promise  me  that  you  will ;  " — till  Mrs.  Rossitur  in  an 
agony  sobbed  out  the  word  he  wanted, — and  Hugh  hid  his  face  then 
in  her  neck. 

Mr.  Carleton  left  the  room  and  went  down-stairs.  He  found  the 
sitting-room  desolute,  untenanted  and  cold  for  hours  ;  and  he  went 
again  into  the  kitchen.  Barby  was  there  for  some  time  and  then 
she  left  him  alone. 

He  had  passed  a  long  while  in  thinking  and  walking  up  and 
down,  and  he  was  standing  musing  by  the  fire,  when  Fleda  again 
came  in.  She  came  in  silently,  to  his  side,  and  putting  her  arir 
within  his  laid  her  face  upon  it  with  a  simplicity  of  trust  and  re> 
fiance  that  went  to  his  heart ;  and  she  wept  there  for  a  long  hour. 
They  hardly  changed  their  position  in  all  that  time  ;  and  her  tears 
flowed  silently  though  incessantly,  the  only  tokens  of  sympathy  on 
his  part  being  such  a  gentle  caressing  smoothing  of  her  hair  or  put 
ting  it  from  her  brow  as  he  had  used  when  she  was  a  child.  The 
bearing  of  her  hand  and  head  upon  his  arm  in  time  showed  her  in 
creasingly  weary.  Nothing  showed  him  so, 

"  Elfie — my  dear  Elfie,"  he  said  at  last  very  tenderly,  in  the  same 
way  that  he  would  have  spoken  nine  years  before — "  Hugh  gave 
his  part  of  you  to  me — I  must  take  care  of  it." 

Fleda  tried  to  rouse  herself  immediately. 

"  This  is  poor  entertainment  for  you,  Mr.  Carleton,"  she  said, 
raising  her  head  and  wiping  away  the  tears  from  her  face. 


504  QUEECHY. 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  he  said  gently.  "  You  never  gave  me  suctt 
pleasure  but  twice  before,  Elfie."  , 

Fleda's  head  went  down  again  instantly,  and  this  time  there  was 
something  almost  caressing  in  tne  motion. 

"  Next  to  the  happiness  of  having  friends  on  earth,"  he  said 
soothingly,  "  is  the  happiness  of  having  friends  in  heaven.  Don't 
weep  any  more  to-night,  my  dear  Elfie." 

"  He  told  me  to  thank  you — "  said  Fleda.  But  stopping  short 
and  clasping  with  convulsive  energy  the  arm  she  held,  she  shed 
more  violent'  tears  than  she  had  done  that  night  before.  The 
most  gentle  soothing,  the  most  tender  reproof,  availed  at  last  toquie 
her  ;  and  she  stood  clinging  to  his  arm  still  and  looking  down  into 
the  fire. 

"  I  did  not  think  it  would  be  so  soon,"  she  said. 

"  It  was  not  soon  to  him,  Elfie." 

"  He  told  me  to  thank  you  for  singing.  How  little  while  it  seems 
sfnce  we  were  children  together — how  little  while  since  before  that 
—when  I  was  a  little  child  here — how  different !  " 

"  No,  the  very  same,"  said  he,  touching  his  lips  to  her  forehead, 
— "  you  are  the  very  same  child  you  were  then  ;  but  it  is  time  you 
were  my  child,  for  I  see  you  would  make  yourself  ill.  No — "  said 
he  softly  taking  the  hand  Fleda  raised  to  her  face, — "  no  more  *o- 
night — tell  me  how  early  I  may  see  you  in  the  morning — for  Elfie,  I 
must  leave  you  after  breakfast." 

Fleda  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"  My  mother  has  brought  news  that  determines  me  to  return  to 
England  immediately." 

"  To  England  !  " 

"  I  have  been  too  long  from  home — I  am  wanted  there." 

Fleda  looked  down  again  and  did  her  best  not  to  show  what  she 
felt. 

"I  do  no  know  how  to  leave  you — and  now — but  I  must.  There 
are  disturbances  among  the  people,  and  my  own  are  infected.  I 
must  be  there  without  delay." 

"  Political  disturbances?"  said  Fleda. 

"  Somewhat  of  that  nature— but  partly  local.  How  early  may  I 
come  to  you  ?  " 

"  But  you  are  not  going  away  to-night  ?     It  is  very  late." 

e>  That  is  nothing — my  horse  is  here." 

Fleda  would  have  begged  in  vain,  if  Barby  had  not  come  in  and 
idded  her  word,  to  the  effect  that  it  would  be  a  mess  of  work  to 
look  for  lodgings  at  that  time  of  night,  and  that  she  had  made  the 
west  room  ready  for  Mr.  Carleton.  She  rejected  with  great  sincerity 
any  claim  to  the  thanks  with  which  Fleda  as  well  as  Mr.  Carleton 
repaid  her;  "there  wa'n't  no  trouble  about  it,"  she  said.  Mr. 
Carleton  however  found  his  room  prepared  for  him  \\ith  all  the  care 
that  Barby's  utmost  ideas  of  refinement  and  exactness  could 
suggest. 

It  was  still  very  early  the  next  morning  when  he  left  it  and  came 
into  the  sitting-room,  but  he  was  not  the  first  there.  The  firelight 
glimmered  on  the  silver  and  china  of  the  breakfast  table,  all  set; 
everything  was  in  absolute  order,  from  the  fire  to  the  two  cups  and 
saucars  which  were  alone  on  the  board.  A  still  silent  figure  waf 


QUEECffF.  506 

standing  by  one  of  the  windows  looking  out.  Not  crying  ;  but  that 
Mr.  Carleton  knew  from  the  unmistakable  lines  of  the  face  was 
only  because  tears  were  waiting  another  time ;  quiet  now,  it 
would  not  be  by  and  by.  He  came  and  stood  at  the  window  with 
her. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  after  a  little,  "  that  Mr.  Rossitur  pur 
poses  to  leave  Queechy  ?  " 

"  Does  he?"  said  Fleda  rather  starting,  but  she  added  not  an 
other  word,  simply  because  she  felt  she  could  not  safely, 

14  He  has  accepted,  I  believe,  a  consulship  at  Jamaica." 

"Jamaica!"  said  Fleda.  "I  have  heard  him  speak  of  the 
Nest  Indies — I  am  not  surprised — I  knew  it  was  likely  he  would  not 
stay  here." 

How  tightly  her  fingers  that  were  free  grasped  the  edge  of  the 
window-frame.  Mr.  Carleton  saw  it  and  softly  removed  them  into 
his  own  keeping. 

"  He  may  go  before  I  can  be  here  again.  But  I  shall  leave  my 
mother  to  take  care  of  you,  Elfie." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Fleda  faintly.     "  You  are  very  kind — " 

"  Kind  to  myself,"  he  said  smiling.  "  I  am  only  taking  care  of 
my  own.  I  need  not  say  that  you  will  see  me  again  as  early  as  my 
duty  can  make  it  possible  ; — but  I  may  be  detained,  and  your 
friends  may  be  gone — Elfie— give  me  the  right  to  send  if  I  cannot 
come  for  you.  Let  me  leave  my  wife  in  my  mother's  care." 

Fleda  looked  down,  and  colored,  and  hesitated  ;  but  the  ex 
pression  in  her  face  was  not  that  of  doubt. 

"  Am  I  asking  to  much  ?"  he  said  gently. 
.    "  No  sir,"  said  Fleda, — "  and — but — " 

"  What  is  in  the  way  ?  " 

But  it  seemed  impossible  for  Fleda  to  tell  him. 

"May  I  not  know?"  he  said,  gently  putting  away  the  hail 
from  Fleda's  face,  which  looked  distressed.  "  Is  it  only  your  feel 
ing  ? ' ' 

"  No  sir,"  said  Fleda, — "  at  least — not  the  feeling  you  think  it  is 
— but — I  could  not  do  it  without  giving  great  pain." 

Mr.  Carleton  was  silent. 

"Not  to  anybody  you  know,  Mr.  CarlQton,"  said  Fleda,  sud 
denly  fearing  a  wrong  interpretation  of  her  words, — "  I  don't  mean 
:hat — I  mean  somebody  else — the  person — the  only  person  you 
:ould  apply  to — "  she  said,  covering  her  face  in  utter  confusion. 

"  Do  I  understand  you?"  said  he  smiling.  "  Has  this  gentleman 
any  reason  to  dislike  the  sight  of  me  ?  " 

"  No  sir,"  said  Fleda, — "  but  he  thinks  he  has." 

"That  only  I  meant,"  said  he.  "You  are  quite  right,  my 
dear  Elfie  ;  I  of  all  men  ought  to  understand  that." 

The  subject  was  dropped,  and  in  a  few  minutes  his  gentle  skill 
had  well  nigh  made  Fleda  forget  what  they  had  been  talking 
about.  Himself  and  his  wishes  seemed  to  be  put  quite  out  of  his 
own  view,  and  out  of  hers  as  far  as  possible  ;  except  that  the 
very  fact  made  Fleda  recognize  with  unspeakable  gratitude  and 
admiration  the  kindness  and  grace  th#t  were  always  exerted  for 
her  pleasure.  If  her  good-will  could  have  been  put  into  the  cups 
of  coffee  she  poured  out  for  him,  he  might  have  gone  in  tb$ 


906  QU&ECHT. 

strength  of  them  all  the  way  to  England.  There  was  strength 
of  another  kind  to  be  gained  from  her  face  of  quiet  sorrow  and 
quiet  self-command  which  were  her  very  childhood's  own. 

"  You  will  see  me  at  the  earliest  possible  moment,"  he  said  when 
at  last  taking  leave. — "  I  hope  to  be  free  in  a  short  time  ;  but  i* 
may  not  be.  Elfie — if  I  should  be  detained  longer  than  I  hope — • 
if  I  should  not  be  able  to  return  in  a  reasonable  time,  will  you 
let  my  mother  bring  you  out? — if  I  cannot  come  to  you  will  you 
come  to  me?" 

Fleda  colored  a  good  deal,  and  said,  scarce  intelligibly,  that  she 
hoped  he  would  be  able  to  come.  He  did  not  press  the  matter^ 
He  parted  from  her  and  was  leaving  the  room.  Fleda  suddenly 
sprang  after  him,  before  he  had  reached  the  door,  and  laid  her  hand 
on  his  arm. 

"  I  did  not  answer  your  question,  Mr.  Carleton,"  she  said  with 
cheeks  that  were  dyed  now, — "  I  will  do  whatever  you  please — 
whatever  you  think  best." 

His  thanks  were  most  gratefully  though  silently  spoken,  and  he 
went  away. 


CHAPTER  LII. 

Daughter,  they  seem  to  say, 

Peace  to  thy  heart ! 
We  too,  yes,  daughter, 

Have  been  as  thou  art. 
Hope-lifted,  doubt  depressed, 

Seeing  in  part, — 
Tried,  troubled,  tempted, — 

Sustained, — as  thou  art. 

UNKNOWN. 

MR.  ROSSITUR  was  disposed  for  no  further  delay  now  in  leaving 
Queechy.  The  office  at  Jamaica,  which  Mr.  Carleton  and  Dr. 
Gregory  had  secured  for  him,  was  immediately  accepted  ;  and 
every  arrangement  pressed  to  hasten  his  going.  On  every  account 
he  was  impatient  to  be  out  of  America,  and  especially  since  his 
son's  death.  Marion  was  of  his  mind.  Mrs.  Rossitur  had  more  of 
TL  home  feeling,  even  for  the  place  where  home  had  not  been  to  her 
as  happy  as  it  might. 

They  were  sad  weeks  of  bustle  and  weariness  that  followed 
Hugh's  death ;  less  sad  perhaps  for  the  weariness  and  the  bustle. 
There  was  little  time  for  musing,  no  time  for  lingering  regrets.  If 
thought  and  feeling  played  their  Eolian  measures  on  Fleda1  s  harp* 
strings,  they  were  listened  to  only  by  snatches,  and  she  rarely  sat 
down  and  cried  to  them. 

A  very  kind  note  had  been  received  from  Mrs.  Carleton. 

April  gave  place  to  May.  One  afternoon  Fleda  had  taken  an 
hour  or  two  to  go  and  look  at  some  of  the  old  places  on  the  farm, 
that  she  loved  and  that  were  not  too  far  to  reach.  A  last  look  she 
guessed  it  might  be,  for  it  was  weeks  since  she  had  had  a  spare 
afternoon,  and  another  she  might  not  be  able  to  find.  It  was  % 
tfoubtful  pleasure  she  sought  too,  but  she  must  have  it, 


QUEECHT.  607 

She  visited  the  long  meadow  and  the  height  that  stretched  along 
it,  and  even  went  so  far  as  the  extremity  of  the  valley,  at  the 
foot  of  the  twenty-acre  lot,  and  then  stood  still  to  gather  up  the 
ends  of  memory.  There  she  had  gone  chestnutting  with  Mr. 
Ringgan — thither  she  had  guided  Mr.  Carleton  and  her  cousin 
Rossitur  that  day  when  they  were  going  after  wood-cock — there  she 
had  directed  and  overseen  Earl  Douglass's  huge  crop  of  corn. 
How  many  pieces  of  her  life  were  connected  with  it.  She  stood 
for  a  little  while  looking  at  the  old  chestnut  trees,  looking  and 
thinking,  and  turned  away  soberly  with  the  recollection,  "  The 
vvorld  passeth  away, — but  the  word  of  our  God  shall  stand  forever.' 
And  though  there  was  one  thought  that  was  a  continual  well  of 
happiness  in  the  depth  of  Fleda's  heart,  her  mind  passed  it  now, 
and  echoed  with  great  joy  the  countersign  of  Abraham's  privilege, 
— "  Thou  art  my  portion,  O  Lord  !  " — And  in  that  assurance  every 
past  and  every  hoped-for  good  was  sweet  with  added  sweetness. 
She  walked  home  without  thinking  much  of  the  long  meadow. 

It  was  a  chill  spring  afternoon  and  Fleda  was  in  her  old  trim,  the 
black  cloak,  the  white  shawl  over  it,  and  the  hood  of  grey  silk. 
And  in  that  trim  she  walked  into  the  sitting-room. 

A  lady  was  there,  in  a  traveling  dress,  a  stranger.  Fleda's  eye 
took  in  her  outline  and  feature  one  moment  with  a  kind  of  bewilder 
ment,  the  next  with  perfect  intelligence.  If  the  lady  had  been  in 
any  doubt,  Fleda's  cheeks  alone  would  have  announced  her  iden 
tity.  But  she  came  forward  without  hesitation  after  the  first 
moment,  pulling  off  her  hood,  and  stood  before  her  visitor,  blush 
ing,  in  a  way  that  perhaps  Mrs.  Carleton  looked  at  as  a  novelty  in 
her  world.  Fleda  did  not  know  how  she  looked  at  it,  but  she  had 
nevertheless  an  instinctive  feeling,  even  at  the  moment,  that  the 
lady  wondered  how  her  son  should  have  fancied  particularly  any 
thing  that  went  about  under  such  a  hood. 

Whatever  Mrs.  Carleton  thought,  her  son's  fancies  she  knew 
were  unmanageable  ;  and  she  had  far  too  much  good  breeding  to 
let  her  thoughts  be  known  ;  unless  to  one  of  those  curious  spirit 
thermometers  that  can  tell  a  variation  of  temperature  through 
every  sort  of  medium.  There  might  have  been  the  slightest  want 
of  forwardness  to  do  it,  but  she  embraced  Fleda  with  great  cor 
diality. 

"  This  is  for  the  old  time — not  for  the  new,  dear  Fleda,"  she 
^aid.  "  Do  you  remember  me  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  ! — very  well,"  said  Fleda,  giving  Mrs.  Carleton  for  a 
moment  a  glimpse  of  her  eyes. — "  I  do  not  easily  forget." 

"  Your  look  promises  me  an  advantage  from  that,  which  I  do  not 
deserve,  but  which  I  may  as  well  use  as  another.  I  want  all  I  can 
have,  Fleda." 

There  was  a  half  look  at  the  speaker  that  seemed  to  deny  the 
truth  of  that,  but  Fleda  did  not  otherwise  answer.  She  begged  her 
visitor  to  sit  down,  and  throwing  off  the  white  shawl  and  black 
cloak,  took  tongs  in  hand  and  began  to  mend  the  fire.  Mrs.  Carle- 
ton  sat  considering  a  moment  the  figure  of  the  fire-maker,  not  much 
regardful  of  the  skill  she  was  bringing  to  bear  upon  the  sticks  of 
wood. 

Fleda  turned  from  the  fire  to  remove  her  visitor's  bonnet  and 


508  QUEECHF. 

wrappings,  but  the  former  was  all  Mrs.  Carleton  would  give  her ; 
she  threw  off  shawl  and  tippet  on  the  nearest  chair. 

It  was  the  same  Mrs.  Carleton  of  old, — Fleda  saw  while  this  was 
doing, — unaltered  almost  entirely.  The  fine  figure  and  bearing 
were  the  same  ;  time  had  made  no  difference  ;  even  the  face  had 
paid  little  tribute  to  the  years  that  had  passed  by  it  ;  and  the  hair 
held  its  own  without  a  change.  Bodily  and  mentally  she  was  the 
same.  Apparently  she  was  thinking  the  like  of  Fleda. 

"  I  remember  you  very  well,"  she  said  with  kindly  accent  when 
Fleda  sat  down  by  her.  "  I  have  never  forgotten  you.  A  dear 
little  creature  you  were.  I  always  knew  that." 

Fleda  hoped  privately  the  lady  would  see  no  occasion  to  change 
her  mind  ;  but  for  the  present  she  was  bankrupt  in  words. 

"  I  was  in  the  same  room  this  morning  at  Montepoole  where  we 
used  to  dine,  and  it  brought  back  the  whole  thing  to  me — the  time 
when  you  were  sick  there  with  us.  I  could  think  of  nothing  el»e. 
But  I  don't  think  I  was  your  favorite,  Fleda." 

Such  a  rush  of  blood  again  answered  her  as  moved  Mrs.  Carle- 
ton  in  common  kindness  to  speak  of  common  things.  She  entered 
into  a  long  story  of  her  journey — of  her  passage  from  England — of 
the  steamer  that  brought  her — of  her  stay  in  New  York  ; — all 
which  Fleda  heard  very  indifferently  well.  She  was  more  distinctly 
conscious  of  the  handsome  traveling  dress  which  seemed  all  the 
while  to  look  as  its  wearer  had  done,  with  some  want  of  affinity 
upon  the  little  grey  hood  which  lay  on  the  chair  in  the  corner. 
Still  she  listened  and  responded  as  became  her,  though  for  the  most 
part  with  eyes  that  did  not  venture  from  home.  The  little  hood 
itself  could  never  have  kept  its  place  with  less  presumption,  nor 
with  less  flutter  of  self-distrust. 

Mrs.  Carleton  came  at  last  to  a  general  account  of  the  circum 
stances  that  had  determined  Guy  to  return  home  so  suddenly, 
where  she  was  more  interesting.  She  hoped  he  would  not  be  de 
tained,  but  it  was  impossible  to  tell.  It  was  just  as  it  might 
happen. 

"Are  you  acquainted  with  the  commission  I  have  been  charged 
with?  "  she  said,  when  her  narrations  had  at  last  lapsed  into  silence 
and  Fleda's  eyes  had  returned  to  the  ground. 

"  I  suppose  so,  ma'am,"  said  Fleda  with  a  little  smile. 

"  It  is  a  very  pleasant  charge,"  said  Mrs.  Carleton  softly  kissing 
ler  cheek.  Something'  in  the  face  itself  must  have  called  forth 
;hat  kiss,  for  this  time  there  were  no  requisitions  of  politeness. 

"  Do  you  recognize  my  commission,  Fleda?" 

Fleda  did  not  answer.  Mrs.  Carleton  sat  a  few  minutes  thought 
fully  drawing  back  the  curls  from  her  forehead,  Mr.  Carleton's 
very  gesture,  but  not  by  any  means  with  his  fingers  ;  and  musing 
perhaps  on  the  possibility  of  a  hood's  having  very  little  to  do  with 
what  it  covered. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,- "I  have  felt  as  if  I  were  nearer  to 
Guy  since  I  have  seen  you." 

The  quick  smile  and  color  that  answered  this,  both  very  bright, 
w^  ught  in  Mrs.  Carleton  an  instant  recollection  that  her  son  was 
very  apt  to  be  right  in  his  judgments  and  that  probably  the  present 
case  might  prove  him  so.  The  hand  which  had  played  with  Fleda's 


QUEECHY.  5W 

hair  was  put  round  her  waist,  very  affectionately,  and  Mrs.  Carle* 
ton  drew  near  her. 

"  I  am  sure  we  shall  love  each  other,  Fleda,"  she  said. 

It  was  said  like  Fleda,  not  like  Mrs.  Carleton,  and  answered  as 
simply.  Fleda  had  gained  her  place.  Her  head  was  is  Mrs.  Carle« 
ton's  neck,  and  welcomed  there. 

"  At  least  I  am  sure  I  shall  love  you,"  said  the  lady  kissing  her, 
— -'and  1  don't  despair  on  my  own  account, — for  somebody  else's 
sake." 

««  £?0 — "  said  Fleda, — but  she  was  not  fluent  to-day.  She  sat  up 
and  repeated,  "  I  have  not  forgotten  old  times  either,  Mrs.  Carle- 

tOii." 

"  I  don't  want  to  think  of  the  old  time — I  want  to  think  of  the 
new," — she  seemed  to  have  a  great  fancy  for  stroking  back  those 
curls  of  hair  ; — "  I  want  to  tell  you  how  happy  I  am,  dear  Fleda." 

Fleda  did  not  say  whether  she  was  happy  or  unhappy,  and  her 
look  might  have  been  taken  for  dubious.  She  kept  her  eyes  on  the 
ground,  while  Mrs.  Carleton  drew  the  hair  off  from  her  flushing 
cheeks,  and  considered  the  face  laid  bare  to  her  view  ;  and  thought 
it  was  a  fair  face — a  very  presentable  face — delicate  and  lovely — a 
face  that  she  would  have  no  reason  to  be  ashamed  of,  even  by  her 
son's  side.  Her  speech  was  not  precisely  to  that  effect. 

"  You  know  now  why  I  have  come  upon  you  at  such  a  time.  I 
need  not  ask  pardon  ? — I  felt  that  I  should  be  hardly  discharging 
my  commission  if  I  did  not  see  you  till  you  arrived  in  New  York. 
My  wishes  I  could  have  made  to  wait,  but  not  my  trust.  So  I 
came." 

"I  am  very  glad  you  did  !  " 

She  could  fain  have  persuaded  the  lady  to  disregard  circum 
stances  and  stay  with  her,  at  least  till  the  next  day,  but  Mrs.  Carle-? 
ton  was  unpersuadable.  She, would  return  immediately  to  Monte* 
poole. 

"  And  how  long  shall  you  be  here  now?  "  she  said. 

"A  few  days — it  will  not  be  more  than  a  week." 

"  Do  you  know  how  soon  Mr.  Rossitur  intends  to  sail  for  Ja- 
«acia  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  possible — he  will  make  his  stay  in  New  York  very 
short — not  more  than  a  fortnight  perhaps  ; — as  short  as  he  can." 

31  And  then,  my  dear  Fleda,  I  am  to  have  the  charge  of  you-* 
?or  a  little  while — am  I  not?  " 

Fleda  hesitated  and  began  to  say,  "  Thank  you,"  but  it  was  fin- 
ished  with  a  burst  of  very  hearty  tears. 

Mrs.  Carleton  knew  immediately  the  tender  spot  she  had  touched. 
She  put  her  arms  about  Fleda  and  caressed  her  as  gently  as  her  own 
mother  might  have  done. 

"  Forgive  me,  dear  Fleda  ! — I  forgot  that  so  much  that  is  sad  to 
you  must  come  before  what  is  so  n.uch  pleasure  to  me. — Look  up 
and  tell  me  that  you  forgive  me." 

Fleda  soon  looked  up,  but  she  lot  ked  very  sorrowful,  and  said 
nothing.  Mrs.  Carleton  watched  her  face  for  a  little  while,  really 
pained. 

"  Have  you  heard  from  Guy  since  he  went  away?"  she  whis 
pered 


610  QUEECHF. 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"  I  have." 

And  therewith  she  put  into  Fleda'«  hand  a  letter, — not  Mrs 
Carleton's  letter,  as  Fleda's  first  thought  was.  It  had  her  own 
name  and  the  seal  was  unbroken.  But  it  moved  Mrs.  Carleton's 
wonder  to  see  Fleda  cry  again,  and  longer  than  before.  She  did 
not  understand  it.  She  tried  soothing  but  she  ventured  no  attempt 
at  consoling,  for  she  did  not  know  what  was  the  matter. 

"  You  will  let  me  go  now,  I  know,"  she  said  smilingly,  when 
Fleda  was  again  recovered  and  standing  before  the  fire  with  a  face 
not  so  sorrowful,  Mrs.  Carleton  saw.  "  But  I  must  say  something 
— I  shall  not  hurt  you  again." 

"  Oh  no,  you  did  not  hurt  me  at  all — it  was  not  what  yois 
said." 

"  You  will  come  to  me,  dear  Fleda  ?  I  feel  that  I  want  you  very 
much." 

"Thank  you — but  there  is  my  uncle  Orrin,  Mrs.  Carleton, — Dr. 
Gregory." 

"  Dr.  Gregory?  He  is  just  on  the  eve  of  sailing  for  Europe — I 
thought  you  knew  it." 

"  On  the  eve  ? — so  soon  ?  " 

"  Very  soon,  he  told  me.  Dear  Fleda — shall  I  remind  you  of 
my  commission,  and  who  gave  it  to  me." 

Fleda  hesitated  still ;  at  least  she  stood  looking  into  the  fire  and 
did  not  answer. 

"  You  do  not  own  his  authority  yet,"  Mrs.  Carleton  went  on, — 
"  but  I  am  sure  his  wishes  do  not  weigh  for  nothing  with  you,  and 
I  can  plead  them." 

Probably  it  was  a  source  of  some  gratification  to  Mrs.  Carleton 
to  see  those  deep  spots  on  Fleda's  cheeks.     They  were  a  silent 
tribute  to  an  invisible  presence  that  flattered  the  lady's  affection,- 
or  her  pride. 

"What  do  you  say,  dear  Fleda— to  him  and  to  me?"  she  said 
smiling  and  kissing  her. 

"  I  will  come,  Mrs.  Carleton." 

The  lady  was  quite  satisfied  and  departed  on  the  instant,  having 
got,  she  said,  all  she  wanted  ;  Fleda — cried  till  her  eyes  were  sore. 

The  days  were  few  that  remained  to  them  in  their  old  home  ; 
not  more  than  a  week,  as  Fleda  had  said.  It  was  the  first  week 
In  May. 

The  evening  before  they  were  to  leave  Queechy,  Fleda  and  Mrs. 
Rossitur  went  together  to  pay  their  farewell  visit  to  Hugh's  grave. 
It  was  some  distance  off.  They  walked  there  arm  in  arm  without 
a  word  by  the  way. 

The  little  country  grave-yard  lay  alone  on  the  hill-side,  a  good 
way  from  any  house,  and  out  of  sight  even  of  any  but  a  very  distant 
one.  A  sober  and  quiet  place,  no  tokens  of  busy  life  immediately 
near,  the  fields  around  it  being  used  for  pasturing  sheep,  except  an 
instance  or  two  of  winter  grain  now  nearing  its  maturity.  A  by-road 
not  much  traveled  led  to  the  grave-yard,  and  led  off  from  it  over  the 
broken  country,  following  the  ups  and  downs  of  the  ground  to  a 
long  distance  away,  without  a  moving  thing  upon  it  in  sight  near  or 
far.  No  sound  of  stirring  and  active  humanity.  Nothing  to  toucfe 


QVEECHT.  811 

the  perfect  repose.  But  every  lesson  of  the  place  could  be  heard 
more  distinctly  amid  that  silence  of  all  other  voices.  Except  indeed 
nature's  voice  ;  that  was  not  silent;  and  neither  did  it  jar  with  the 
other.  The  very  light  of  the  evening  fell  more  tenderly  upon  the 
old  grey  stones  and  the  thick  grass  in  that  place. 

Fleda  and  Mrs.  Rossitur  went  softly  to  one  spot  where  the  grass 
was  not  grown  and  where  the  bright  white  marble  caught  the  eye 
and  spoke  of  grief  fresh  too.  Oh  that  that  were  grey  and  moss- 
grown  hke  the  others  !  The  mother  placed  herself  where  the  star 
ing  black  letters  of  Hugh's  name  could  not  remind  her  so  harshly 
that  it  no  more  belonged  to  the  living  ;  and  sitting  down  on  the  ground 
hid  her  face  ;  to  struggle  through  the  parting  agony  once  more, 
with  added  bitterness. 

Fleda  stood  awhile  sharing  it,  for  with  her  too  it  was  the  last  time, 
»n  all  likelihood.  If  she  had  been  alone,  her  grief  might  have  wit 
nessed  itself  bitterly  and  uncontrolled  ;  but  the  selfish  relief  was 
foregone,  for  the  sake  of  another,  that  it  might  be  in  her  power  by 
and  by  to  minister  to  a  heart  yet  sorer  and  weaker  than  hers.  The 
tears  that  fell  so  quietly  and  so  fast  upon  the  foot  of  Hugh's  grave 
yvere  all  the  deeper-drawn  and  richer-fraught. 

Awhile  she  stood  there  ;  and  then  passed  round  to  a  group  a 
little  way  off,  that  had  as  dear  and  strong  claims  upon  her  love  and 
memory.  These  were  not  fresh,  not  very  ;  oblivion  had  not  come 
there  yet ;  only  Time's  softening  hand.  Was  it  softening  ? — for 
Fleda' s  head  was  bent  down  further  here,  and  tears  rained  faster. 
It  was  hard  to  leave  these  !  The  cherished  names  that  from  early 
years  had  lived  in  her  child's  heart, — from  this  their  last  earthly 
abiding-place  she  was  to  part  .company.  Her  mother's  and  h«r 
father's  graves  were  there,  side  by  side  ;  and  never  had  Fleda's 
heart  so  clung  to  the  old  grey  stones,  never  had  the  faded  lettering 
seemed  so  dear, — of  the  dear  names  and  of  the  words  of  faith  and 
hope  that  were  their  dying  or  living  testimony.  And  next  to  them 
was  her  grandfather's  resting-place  ;  and  with  that  sunshiny  green 
mound  came  a  throng  of  strangely  tender  and  sweet  associations, 
more  even  than  with  the  other  two.  His  gentle,  venerable,  dignified 
figure  rose  before  her,  and  her  heart  yearned  toward  it  In  imagi 
nation  Fleda  pressed  again  to  her  breast  the  withered  hand  that  had 
led  her  childhood  so  kindly  ;  and  overcome  here  for  a  little  she 
kneeled  down  u'pon  the  sod  and  bent  her  head  till  the  long  grass 
almost  touched  it,  in  an  agony  of  human  sorrow.  Could  she  leave 
Shem  ? — and  for  ever  in  this  world  ?  and  be  content  to  see  no  more 
these  dear  memorials  till  others  like  them  should  be  raised  for  her 
self,  far  away  ? — But  then  stole  in  consolations  not  human,  nor  of 
men's  devising, — the  words  that  were  written  upon  her  mother's 
tombstone, — 

"  Them  that  sleep  in  Jems  will  God  bring  with  him" — It  was  like 
the  march  of  angel's  feet  over  the  turf.  And  her  mother  had  been 
a  meek  child  of  faith,  and  her  father  and  grandfather,  though  strong 
men,  had  bowed  like  little  children  to  the  same  rule. — Fleda's 
head  bent  lower  yet,  and  she  wept,  even  aloud,  but  it  was  one  half 
in  pure  thankfulness  and  a  joy  that  the  world  knows  nothing  of. 
Doubtless  they  arid  she  were  one  ;  doubtless  though  the  grass  now 
covered  theis  graves,  the  heavenly  bond  in  which  they  were  held 


would  bring  tham  together  again  in  light,  to  a  new  and  mor? 
beautiful  lift;  that  should  know  no  severing.  Asleep  in  Jesus  ;.-• 
and  even  as  he  had  risen  so  should  they, — they  and  others  that 
she  loved, — all  whom  she  loved  best.  She  could  leave  their 
graves  ;  and  with  an  unspeakable  look  of  thanks  to  Him  who  had 
brought  life  and  immortality  to  light,  she  did  ;  but  not  till  she  hi>d 
there  once  again  remembered  her  mother's  prayer,  and  her  au».t 
Miriam's  words,  and  prayed  that  rather  anything  might  happen  te 
her  than  that  prosperity  and  the  world's  favor  should  draw  her 
from  the  simplicity  and  humility  of  a  life  above  the  world.  Rathe* 
than  not  meet  them  in  joy  at  the  last,  —oh  let  her  want  what  she 
most  wished  for  in  this  world. 

If  riches  have  their  poisonous  snares,  Fleda  carried  away  from 
this  place  Ji  strong  antidote.  With  a  spirit  strangely  simple  pure  aiivJ 
calm  she  went  back  to  her  aunt. 

Poor  Mrs.  Rossitur  was  not  quieted,  but  at  Fleda's  touch  and 
voice,  gentle  and  loving  as  the  spirit  of  love  and  gentleness  could 
make  them,  she  tried  to  rouse  herself;  lifted  up  her  weary  head 
and  clasped  her  arms  about  her  niece.  The  manner-of  it  went  t^ 
Fleda's  heart,  for  there  was  in  it  both  a  looking  to  her  for  suppor- 
and  a  clinging  to  her  as  another  dear  thing  she  was  about  to  lost. 
Fleda  could  not  speak  for  the  heart-ache. 

"  It  is  harder  to  leave  this  place  than  all  the  rest,"  Mrs.  Rossitur 
murmured,  after  some  little  time  had  passed  on. 

"  He  is  not  here,"  said  Fleda's  soothing  voice.  It  set  her  ausrc 
to  crying  again. 

«•  No — I  know  it — "  she  said. 

"  We  shall  see  him  again.     Think  of  that." 

11  You  will,"  said  Mrs.  Rossitur  very  sadly. 
1  And  so  will  you,  dear  aunt  Lucy, — dear  aunt  Lucy — you  pronv 
ised  him?" 

"Yes — ''  sobbed  Mrs.  Rossitur, — "I  promised  him — but  f  ',rn 
such  a  poor  creature — " 

"So  poor  that  Jesus  cannot  save  you? — or  will  not? — No,  deal* 
aunt  Lucy — you  do  not  think  that ; — only  trust  him — you  do  trust 
him  now,  do  you  not?" 

A  fresh  gush  of  tears  came  with  the  answer,  but  it  was  in  the 
affirmative;  and  after' a  few  minutes  Mrs.  Rossitur  grew  more 
^uiet. 

-'I  wish  something  were  done  to  this,"  she  said,  looking  at  the 
3"esh  earth  beside  her  ; — "  if  we  could  have  planted  something — ' 

"I  have  the  ^ht  of  it  a  thousand  times,"  said  Fleda  sighing  ; 
—-"I  would  have  done  it  long  ago  if  I  could  have  got  here  ; — but 
it  doesn't  matter,  aunt  Lucy. — I  wish  I  could  have  done  it." 

"  You:  "  said  Mrs.  Rossitur  ; — "  my  poor  child!  you  have  been 
wearing  yourself  out  working  for  me. — I  never  was  worth  any 
thing  !  " — she  said,  hiding  her  face  again. 

"  When  you  have  been  the  dearest  and  best  mother  to  me?  Now 
that  is  not  right,  and  Lucy — look  up  and  kiss  me." 

The  pleading  sweet  tone  of  voice  was  not  to  be  resisted.  Mrs. 
Rossitur  loqked  up  and  kissed  her  earnestly  enough,  but  with  «n» 


I  Oun't  deserve  co  kiss  you,  for  I  have  let  you  try  yourself  be- 
your  strength. — How  you  look! — Oh  how  you  look! — 

"  Never  mind  how  I  look,"  said  Fleda  bringing  her  face  so  close 
that  her  aunt  could  not  see  it.  "  You  helped  me  all  you  could, 
aunt  Lucy — don't  talk  so — and  I  shall  look  well  enough  by  and  by. 
I  am  not  so  very  tired." 

"You  always  were  so!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Rossitur  clasping  her 
in  her  arms  again  ; — "and  now  I  am  going  to  lose  you  too — My 
dear  Fleda ! — that  gives  me  more  pleasure  than  anything  else  in  the 
vorld  ! — " 

But  it  was  a  pleasure  well  cried  over. 

"We  shall  all  meet  again,  I  hope,— I  will  hope, — "  said  Mrs. 
Rossitur  meekly  when  Fleda  had  risen  from  her  arms  ; 

"  Dear  aunty  ! — but  before  that — in  England — you  will  come  to 
see  me — Uncle  Rolf  will  bring  you." 

Even  then  Fleda  could  not  say  even  that  without  the  blood 
mounting  to  her  face.  Mrs.  Rossitur  shook  her  head  and  sighed  ; 
but  smiled  a  little  too,  as  if  that  delightful  chink  of  possibility  let 
some  light  in. 

"I  shouldn't  like  to  see  Mr.  Carleton  now,"  she  said,  "for  I 
could  not  look  him  In  the  face  ;  and  I  am  afraid  he  wouldn't  want 
to  lock  in  mine,  he  would  be  so  angry  with  me." 

The  sun  was  sinking  low  on  that  fair  May  afternoon  and  they  had 
two  miles  to  walk  to  get  home.  Slowly  and  linger! ngly  they  moved 
away. 

The  talk  with  her  aunt  had  shaken  Fleda's  calmness  and  she 
could  have  cried  now  with  all  her  heart ;  but  she  constrained  her 
self.  They  stopped  a  moment  at  the  fence  to  look  the  last  before 
turning  their  backs  upon  the  place.  They  lingered,  and  still  Mrs. 
Rossitur  did  not  move,  and  Fleda  could  not  take  away  her  eyes. 

It  .was  that  prettiest  time  of  nature  which  while  it  shows  indeed 
the  shade  side  of  everything,  makes  it  the  occasion  of  a  fair  con 
trast.  The  grave-stones  cast  lon^  shadows  over  the  ground,  fore 
tokens  of  night  where  another  night  was  resting  already  ;  the  long 
est  stretched  away  from  the  head  of  Hugh's  grave.  But  the  rays 
of  the  setting  sun  softly  touching  the  grass  and  the  face  of  the 
white  ton.b-stone  seemed  to  say,  "  Thy  brother  shall  rise  again." 
'.ight  upon  the  grave  !  The  promise  kissing  the  record  of  death  ! 
—It  was  impossible  to  look  in  calmness.  Fleda  bowed  her  head 
upon  the  paling  and  cried  with  a  straitened  heart,  for  grief  and 
gratitude  together. 

Mrs.  Rossitur  had  not  moved  when  Fleda  looked  up  again.  The 
sun  was  yet  lower;  the  sunbeams,  more  slant,  touched  not  only 
that  bright  white  stone — they  passed  on  beyond,  and  carried  the 
promise  to  those  other  grey  ones,  a  little  further  off ;  that  she  had 
left — yes,  for  the  last  time  ;  and  Fleda's  thoughts  went  forward 
swiftly  to  the  time  of  promise. — "  7'hen  shall  be  brought  to  pass 
the  saying  which  is  written,  Death  is  swallowed  up  in  victory.  O 
death,  where  is  thy  sting?  O  grave,  where  is  thy  victory?  The 
sting  of  death  is  sin,  and  the  strength  of  sin  is  the  law.  But  thanks 
be  to  God,  which  giveth  us  the  victory  through  our  Lord  Jesus 
Chris*." — And  then  as  she  looked,  the  sunbeams  might  have  bee*,  a 

IP 


*14  QUEECHY. 

choir  of  angels  in  light,  singing  ever  so  softly,  "Glory  to  God  \m 
in  the  brighest,  and  on  earth  peace,  good  will  toward  men." 

With  a  full  heart  Fled  a  clasped  her  aunt's  arm,  and  they  went 
gently  down  the  lane  without  saying  one  word  to  each  other,  till 
they  had  left  the  graveyard  far  behind  them  and  were  in  the  high 
road  again. 

Fleda  internally  thanked  Mr.  Carleton  for  what  he  had  said  to 
her  on  a  former  occasion,  for  the  thought  of  his  words  had  given 
ker  courage,  or  strength,  to  go  beyond  her  usual  reserve  in  speak 
Ing  to  her  aunt ;  and  she  thought  her  words  had  done  good. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

Use  your  pleasure :  if  your  love  do  not  persuade  you  to  come,  let  not  my 
ktter. — MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

ON  the  way  home  Mrs.  Rossitur  and  Fleda  went  a  trifle  out  of 
their  road  to  say  good-bye  to  Mrs.  Douglass's  family.  Fleda  had 
seen  her  aunt  Miriam  in  the  morning,  and  bid  her  a  conditional 
farewell ;  for  as  after  Mrs.  Rossitur's  sailing  she  would  be  with  Mrs. 
Carleton,  she  judged  it  little  likely  that  she  should  see  Queechy 
again. 

They  had  time  for  but  a  minute  at  Mrs.  Douglass's.  Mrs.  Ros 
situr  had  shaken  hands  and  was  leaving  the  house  when  Mrs.  Doug 
lass  pulled  Fleda  back. 

Be  you  going  to  the  West  Indies  too,  Fleda  ?  " 

•No,  Mrs.  Douglass." 
'  Then  why  don't  you  stay  here  ?  " 
I  want  to  be  with  my  aunt  while  I  can,"  said  Fleda. 

•  And  then  do  you  calculate  to  stop  in  New  York  ?  " 
For  awhile,"  said  Fleda  coloring. 

O  go  'long  !  "  said  Mrs.  Douglass.  ••  I  know  all  about  it.  Novf 
do  you  s'pose  you're  agoing  to  be  any  happier  among  all  those  great 
folks  than  you  would  be  if  you  staid  among  little  folks  ?  "  she  added 
tartly  ;  while  Catherine  looked  with  a  kind  of  incredulous  admira 
tion  at  the  future  lady  of  Carleton. 

"  I  don't  suppose  that  greatness  has  anything  to  do  with  happi 
ness,  Mrs.  Douglass,"  said  Fleda  gently. 

So  gently, — and  so  calmly  sweet  the  face  was  that  said  it,  tha! 
Mrs.  Douglass's  mood  was  overcome. 

"Well  you  ain't  agoing  to  forget  Queechy  ?"  she  said,  shaking 
Kleda's  hand  with  a  hearty  grasp. 

"  Never — never! 

fl  I'll  tell  you  what  1  think,"  said  Mrs.  Douglass,  the  tears  in  her 
eyes  answering  those  in  Fleda's, — "  it  '11  be  a  happy  house  that  gets 
you  into  it,  wherever  'tis  !  I  only  wish  it  wa'n't  out  o'  Queechy." 

Fleda  thought  on  the  whole  as  she  walked  home  that  she  did  not 
wish  any  such  thing.  Queechy  seemed  dismantled,  and  she  thought 
she  would  rather  go  to  a  new  place  now  that  she  had  taken  such  a 
leave  of  every  thing  here. 

Two  things  remained  however  to  be  taken  leave  of ;  the  house 
aad  Barby.  Happily  Fleda  had  little  time  for  the  former,  It  was 
a  busy  evening,  and  the  morning  would  be  more  busy ;  she  can- 


QUEECMY.  515 

trived  that  all  the  family  should  go  to  rest  before  her,  meaning  then 
to  have  one  quiet  look  at  the  old  rooms  by  herself  ;  a  leave-taking 
that  no  other  eyes  should  interfere  with.  She  sat  down  before  the 
kitchen  fire-place,  but  she  had  hardly  realized  that  she  was  alone 
when  one  of  the  many  doors  opened  and  Barby's  tall  figure  walked 
in. 

"  Here  you  be,"  she  half  whispered.  "  I  knowed  there  wouldn't 
be  a  minute's  peace  to-morrow  ;  so  I  thought  I'd  bid  you  good-bye 
to-night." 

Fleda  gave  her  a  smile  and  a  hand,  but  did  not  speak.  Barby 
drew  up  a  chair  beside  ^ier,  and  they  sat  silent  for  some  time,  while 
quiet  tears  from  the  eyes  of  each  said  a  great  many  things. 

"  Well,  I  hope  you'll  be  as  happy  as  you  deserve  to  be," — were 
Barby's  first  words,  in  a  voice  very  altered  from  its  accustomed  firm 
and  spirited  accent. 

14  Make  some  better  wish  for  me  than  that,  dear  Barby." 

"  I  wouldn't  want  any  better  for  myself/'  said  Barby  determin- 
ately. 

"  I  would  for  you,"  said  Fleda. 

She  thought  of  Mr.  Carleton's  words  again,  and  went  on  in  spite 
tf  herself. 

• •  It  is  a  mistake,  Barby.  The  best  of  us  do  not  deserve  anything 
food  ;  and  if  we  have  the  sight  of  a  friend's  face,  or  the  very  sweet 
Mr  we  breathe,  it  is  because  Christ  has  bought  it  for  us.  Don't  let 
«s  forget  that,  and  forget  him." 

"  I  do,  always,"  said  Barby  crying, — "  forget  every  thing.  Fleda, 
I  wish  you'd  pray  for  me  when  you  are  far  away,  for  I  ain't  as  good 
as  you  be." 

"  Dear  Barby,"  said  Fleda,  touching  her  shoulder  affectionately, 
"  I  haven't  waited  to  be  far  away  to  do  that." 

Barby  sobbed  for  a  few  minutes  with  the  strength  of  a  strong 
nature  that  rarely  gave  way  in  that  manner  ;  and  then  dashed  her 
tears  right  and  lett,  not  at  all  as  if  she  were  ashamed  of  them,  but 
with  a  resolution  not  to  be  overcome. 

"  There  won't  be  nothing  good  left  in  Queechy,  when  you're 
gone,  you  and  Mis'  Plumfield — without  I  go  and  look  at  the  place 
where  Hugh  lies — " 

"Dear  Barby,"  said  Fleda  with  softening  eyes,  "won't  you  b€ 
•omething  good  yourself?" 

Barby  put  up  her  hand  to  shield  her  face.  Fleda  was  silent  for 
,he  saw  that  strong  feeling  was  at  work. 

"  I  wisht  I  could,"  Barby  broke  forth  at  last,  "if  it  was  only  for 
your  sake." 

"  Dear  Barby,"  said  Fleda,  "you  can  do  this  for  me — you  can  go 
to  church  and  hear  what  Mr.  Olmney  says.  I  should  go  away 
happier  if  I  thought  you  would,  and  if  I  thought  you  would  follow 
what  he  says  ;  for  dear  Barby  there  is  a  time  coming  when  you  will 
wish  you  were  a  Christian  more  than  you  do  now  ;  and  not  for  my 
sake." 

"  I  believe  there  is,  Fleda." 

"  Then  will  you  ? — won't  you  give  me  so  much  pleasure?** 

•'  I'd  do  a'most  anything  to  do  you  a  pleasure." 

'•Then  do  it,  Barby." 


516  QUEECffT. 

"  Wei),  1'h  go,"  said  Barby,  "  But  now  just  think  of  that,  Fleda, 
how  vou  might  have  stayed  in  Oueechy  all  your  days  and  done 
what  you  hived  with  everybody.  I'm  glad  you  ain't,  though  ;  I 
guess  you'll  be  better  off." 

Fleda  was  silent  upon  that. 

"  I'd  like  amazingly  to  see  how  you'll  be  fixed,"  said  Barby  after 
a  trifle  of  ruminating.  "  If  'twa'n't  for  my  old  mother  I'd  be  'most 
a  mind  to  pull  up  sticks  and  go  after  you." 

"  I  wish  you  could,  Barby  ;  only  I  am  afraid  you  would  not  like 
it  so  well  there  as  here." 

"  Maybe  I  wouldn't.  I  s'pect  them  English  folks  has  ways  ot 
iheir  own,  from  what  I've  heerd  tell ;  they  set  up  dreadful,  don't 
they?" 

"  Not  all  of  them,"  said  Fleda. 

"  No,  I  don't  believe  but  what  I  could  get  along  with  Mr.  Carle- 
ton  well  enough — I  never  see  any  one  that  knowed  how  to  behave 
himself  better." 

Fleda  gave  her  a  smiling  acknowledgment  of  this  compliment. 

"  He's  plenty  of  money,  ha'n't  he?  " 

"  I  believe  so." 

"  You'll  be  sot  up  like  a  princess,  and  never  have  nothing  to  do 
no  more." 

"  O  no,"  said  Fleda  laughing, — "  I  expect  to  have  a  great  deal  to 
do  ;  if  I  don't  find  it  I  shall  make  it." 

"I  guess  it  '11  be  pleasant  work,"  said  Barby.  "Well,  I  donjt 
care  !  you've  done  work  enough  since  you've  lived  here  that  wa'n't 
pleasant,  to  play  for  the  rest  of  your  days;  and  I'm  glad  on't.  I 
guess  he  don't  hurt  himselt.  You  wouldn't  stand  it  much  longer  to 
5o  as  you  have  been  doing  lately." 

"  That  couldn't  be  helped,"  said  Fleda  ;  but  that  I  may  stand  it 
to-morrow  I  a  in  afraid  we  must  go  to  bed,  Iferby." 

Barby  bade  her  good-night  and  left  her.  But  Fleda' s  musing 
mood  was  gone.  She  had  no  longer  the  desire  to  call  back  the 
reminiscences  of  the  old  walls.  All  that  page  of  her  life,  she  felt, 
was  turned  over  ;  and  after  a  few  minutes'  quiet  survey  of  the  fa 
miliar  things,  without  the  power  of  moralizing  over  them  as  she 
could  have  done  half  an  hour  before,  she  left  them — for  the  next 
day  had  no  eyes  but  for  business. 

It  was  a  trying  week  or  two  before  Mr.  Rossitur  and  his  family 
were  fairly  on  shipboard.  Fleda  as  usual,  and  more  than  usual, — 
with  the  eagerness  of  affection  that  felt  its  opportunities  numbered 
and  would  gladly  have  concentrated  the  services  of  years  into  days, 
— wrought,  watched,  and  toiled,  at  what  expense  to  her  own  flesh 
and  blood  Mrs.  Rossitur  never  knew,  and  the  others  were  too  busy 
to  guess.  But  Mrs.  Carleton  saw  the  s;gns  of  it,  and  was  heartily 
rejoiced  when  they  were  fairly  gone  and  Fleda  was  committed  to 
her  hands. 

For  days,  almost  for  weeks,  after  her  aunt  was  gone  Fleda  could 
do  little  but  rest  and  sleep  ;  so  great  was  the  weariness  of  mind  and 
body,  and  the  exhaustion  of  the  animal  spirits,  which  had  been  kept 
upon  a  strain  to  hide  her  feelings  and  support  those  of  others.  To 
Jhe  very  last  moment  affection's  sweet  work  had  been  done  ;  the 
eye,  the  voice,  the  smile,  to  sav  nothing  of  the  hands,  had  been 


QUEECHY.  517 

tasked  and  kept  in  play  to  put  away  recollections,  to  cheer  hopes, 
to  soften  the  present,  to  lighten  the  future  ;  and  hardest  of  all,  to  do 
the  whole  by  her  own  living  example.  As  soon  as  the  last  look  and 
wave  of  the  hand  were  exchanged  and  there  was  no  longer  anybody 
to  lean  upon  her  for  strength  and  support,  Fleda  showed  how  weak 
she  was,  and  sank  into  a  state  of  prostration  as  gentle  and  deep  al 
most  as  an  infant's. 

As  sweet  and  lovely  as  a  child  too,  Mrs.  Carleton  declared  her 
to  be  ;  sweet  and  lovely  as  she  was  when  a  child  ;  and  there  was 
no  going  beyond  that.  As  neither  this  lady  nor  Fleda  had  changed 
essentially  since  the  days  of  their  former  acquaintanceship,  it  fol 
lowed  that  there  was  still  as  little  in  common  between  them,  except 
indeed  now  the  strong  ground  of  affection.  Whatever  concerned 
her  son  concerned  Mrs.  Carleton  in  almost  equal  degree  ;  anything 
tliat  he  valued  she  valued  ;  and  to  have  a  thorough  appreciation  of 
hjm  was  a  sure  title  to  her  esteem.  The  consequence  of  all  this 
was  that  Fleda  was  now  the  most  precious  thing  in  the  world  to 
her  after  himself;  especially  since  her  eyes,  sharpened  as  well  as 
opened  by  affection,  could  find  in  her  nothing  that  she  thought  un 
worthy  of  him.  In  her  personally  ;  country  and  blood  Mrs.  Carle- 
ton  might  have  wished  changed  ;  but  her  desire  that  her  son  should 
marry,  the  strongest  wish  she  had  known  for  years,  had  grown  so 
despairing  that  her  only  feeling  now  on  the  subject  was  joy  ;  she 
was  not  in  the  least  inclined  to  quarrel  with  his  choice.  Fleda  had 
from  her  the  tenderest  care,  as  well  as  the  utmost  delicacy  that 
affection  and  good-breeding  could  teach.  And  Fleda  needed  both, 
for  she  was  slow  in  going  back  to  her  old  health  and  strength  ;  and 
stripped  on  a  sudden  of  all  her  old  friends,  on  this  turning  point  of 
her  life,  her  spirits  were  in  that  quiet  mood  that  would  have  felt  any 
jarring  most  keenly. 

The  weeks  of  her  first  languor  and  weariness  were  over,  and  she 
was  beginning  again  to  feel  and  look  like  herself.  The  weather  was 
hot  and  the. city  disagreeable  now,  for  it  was  the  end  of  June  ;  but 
they  had  pleasant  rooms  upon  the  Battery,  and  Fleda's  windows 
looked  out  upon  the  waving  tops  of  green  trees  and  the  bright 
waters  of  the  bay.  She  used  to  lie  gazing  out  at  the  coming  and 
going  vessels  with  a  curious  fantastic  interest  in  therrt  ;  they 
seemed  oddly  to  belong  to  that  piece  of  her  life,  and  to  be  weaving 
the  threads  of  her  future  fate  as  they  flitted  about  in  all  directions 
j:fore  her.  In  a  very  quiet,  placid  mood,  not  as  if  she  wished  tc 
touch  one  of  the  threads,  she  lay  watching  the  bright  sails  thai 
seemed  to  carry  the  shuttle  of  life  to  and  fro  ;  letting  Mrs  Carleton 
arrange  and  dispose  of  everything  and  of  her  as  she  pleased. 

She  was  on  her  couch  as  usual,  looking  out  one  fair  morning, 
when  Mrs.  Carleton  came  in  to  kiss  her  and  ask  how  she  did. 
Fleda  said  better. 

"Better!  you  always  say  'better',"  said  Mrs.  Carleton;  "but 
I  don't  see  that  you  get  better  very  fast.  And  sober  ; — this  cheek 
is  too  sober,"  she  added,  passing  her  hand  fondly  over  it ; — "I 
don't  like  to  see  it  so." 

"That  is  just  the  way  I  have  been  feeling,  ma'am — unable  to 
rouse  myself.  I  should  be  ashamed  of  it.  if  1  could  help  it." 


518  QUEECHY. 

"  Mrs.  Evelyn  has  been  here  begging  that  we  would  join  bet 
in  a  party  to  the  Springs — Saratoga — how  would  you  like  that?" 

"  I  should  like  anything  that  you  would  like,  ma'am,"  said 
Fleda,  with  a  thought  how  she  would  like  to  read  Montepoole  for 
Saratoga. 

"  TPhe  city  is  very  hot  and  dusty  just  now." 

"Very,  and  I  am  sorry  to  keep  you  in  it,  Mrs.  Carleton." 

"  Keep  me,  love?"  said  Mrs.  Carleton  bending  down  her  face 
to  her  again  ; — ••  it's  a  pleasure  to  be  kept  anywhere  by  you." 

Fleda  shut  her  eyes,  for  she  could  hardly  bear  a  little  word 
now. 

"  I  don't  like  to  keep  you  here — it  is  not  myself  I  am  thinking  of. 
I  fancy  a  change  would  do  you  good." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  ma'am." 

"Very  interested  kindness,"  said  Mrs.  Carleton.  "I  want  to 
gee  you  looking  a  little  better  before  Guy  comes — I  am  afraid  he 
will  look  grave  at  both  of  us."  But  as  she  paused  and  stroked 
Fleda's  cheek  it  came  into  her  mind  to  doubt  the  truth  of  the  last 
assertion,  and  she  ended  off  with,  "  I  wish  he  would  come  ! — " 

So  Fleda  wished  truly  ;  for  now,  cut  off  as  she  was  from  her  old 
associations,  she  longed  for  the  presence  of  the  one  friend  that  was 
£o  take  place  of  them  all. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  hear  soon  that  there  is  some  prospect  of  his 
getting  free,"  Mrs.  Carleton  went  on.  "  He  has  been  gone  now, — 
now  many  weeks  ? — I  am  looking  for  a  letter  to-day.  And  there  it 
is !— " 

The  maid  at  this  moment  entered  with  the  steamer  despatches. 
Mrs.  Carleton  pounced  upon  the  one  she  knew  and  broke  it  open. 

1  •  Here  it  is  ! — and  there  is  yours,  Fleda." 

With  kind  politeness  she  went  off  to  read  her  own  and  left  Fleda 
;o  study  hers  at  her  leisure.  An  hour  after  she  came  in  again. 
Fleda's  face  was  turned  from  her. 

"  Well,  what  does  he  say  ?"  she  asked  in  a  lively  tone. 

"I  suppose,  the  same  he  has  said  to  you,  ma'am,"  said  Fleda. 

"  I  don't  suppose  it  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Carleton  laughing.  "  He 
las  given  me  sundry  charges,  which  if  he  has  given  you  it  is  mor 
ally  certain  we  shall  never  come  to  an  understanding." 

"  I  have  received  no  charges,"  said  Fleda. 

«fi  I  am  directed  to  be  very  careful  to  find  out  your  exact  wish  ic 
.he  matter  and  to  let  you  follow  no  other.  So  what  is  it,  my  sweet 
Fleda?" 

"  I  promised — "  said  Fleda  coloring  and  turning  her  letter  over* 
But  there  she  stopped. 

"Whom  and  what?"  said  Mrs.  Carleton  after  she  had  waited  * 
reasonable  time. 

•'Mr.  Carleton." 

"  What  did  you  promise,  my  dear  Fleda?" 

•'  That — I  would  do  as  he  said." 

"  But  he  wishes  you  to  do  as  you  please." 

Fleda  brought  her  eyes  quick  out  of  Mrs.  Carleton's  view,  and 
was  silent. 

"What  do  you  say,  dear  Fleda?"  said  the  lady,  taking  he* 
hand  and  bending  over  Her. 


••  I  am  sure  we  shall  be  expected,'*  said  Fleda.     "  I  will  go." 

"  You  are  a  darling  girl !  "  said  Mrs.  Carleton  kissing  her  again 
and  again.  "  I  will  love  you  forever  for  that.  And  I  am  sure  it 
will  be  the  best  thing  for  you — the  sea  will  do  you  good — and  ne 
vous  en  deplaise,  our  own  home  is  pleasanter  just  now  than  this 
dusty  town.  I  will  write  by  this  steamer  and  tell  Guy  we  will  be 
there  by  the  next.  He  will  have  everything  in  readiness,  I  know, 
at  all  events  ;  and  in  half  an  hour  after  you  get  there,  my  clear 
Fleda,  you  will  be  established  in  all  your  rights — as  well  as  if 
it  had  been  done  six  months  before.  Guy  will  know  how  t« 
thank  you.  But  after  all,  Fleda,  you  might  do  him  this  grace- 
considering  how  .long  he  has  been  waiting  upon  you." 

Something  in  Fleda's  eyes  induced  Mrs.  Carleton  to  say,  laugh 
ing, 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"  He  never  waited  for  me,"  said  Fleda  simply. 

"Didn't  he? — But  my  dear  Fleda! — "  said  Mrs.  Carleton  in 
amused  extremity, — "  how  long  is  it  since  you  knew  what  he  came 
out  here  for?  " 

"  I  don't  know  now,  ma'am,"  said  Fleda.  But  she  became  an. 
gelically  rosy  the  next  minute. 

"  He  never  told  you?" 

"No." 

"And  you  never  asked  him?" 

"  Why  no,  ma'am  !  " 

"  He  will  be  well  suited  in  a  wife,"  said  Mrs.  Carleton  laugh' 
Ing.  "  But  he  can  have  no  objection  to  your  knowing  now,  I 
suppose.  He  never  told  me  but  at  the  latest.  You  must  know, 
Fleda,  that  it  has  been  my  wish  for  a  great  many  years  that 
Guy  would  marry — and  I  almost  despaired,  he  was  so  difficult 
to  please — his  taste  in  everything  is  so  fastidious ;  but  I  am  glad  of 
it  now,*'  she  added  kissing  Fleda's  cheek.  "  Last  spring — not  this 
last,  but  a  year  ago — one  evening  at  home  I  was  talking  to  him  on 
this  subject ;  but  he  met  everything  I  said  lightly — you  know  his 
way — and  I  saw  my  words  took  no  hold.  I  asked  him  at  last  in  a 
kind  of  desperation  if  he  supposed  there  was  a  woman  in  the  world 
that  could  please  him  ;  and  he  laughed,  and  said  if  there  was  he 
was  af/aid  she  was  not  in  that  hemisphere.  And  a  day  or  twr 
after  he  told  me  he  was  going  to  America." 

"  Did  he  say  for  what?  " 

"  No,-^but  I  guessed  as  soon  as  I  found  he  was  prolonging  hia 
stay,  and  I  was  sure  when  he  wrote  me  to  come  out  to  him.  But  I 
never  knew  till  I  landed,  Fleda  my  dear,  any  more  than  that.  The 
first  question  I  asked  him  was  who  he  was  going  to  introduce  to 
me." 

The  interval  was  short  to  the  next  steamer,  but  also  the  prepara 
tions  were  few.  A  day  or  two  after  the  foregoing  conversation,  Con- 
ctance  Evelyn  coming  into  Fleda's  room  found  her  busy  with  some 
light  packing. 

"  My  dear  little  creature  !  "  she  exclaimed  ecstatically, — "  are  you 
going  with  us?  " 

«•  No,"  said  Fleda. 

••  Where  are  you  going  then?" 


5W  QUEECHY 

"To  Englaui. 

"England! — Has— I  mean,  is  there  any  addition  to  my  list  of 
acquaintances  in  the  city  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,"  said  Fleda,  going  on  with  her  work. 

"And  are  you  going  to  England  ! — Greenhouses  will  be  a  desola« 
tion  to  me! — " 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Fleda  smiling  ; — "  you  will  recover  yourself, 
and  your  sense  of  sweetness,  in  time." 

"  It  will  have  nothing  to  act  upon  ! — And  you  are  going  to  En 
gland  ! — I  think  it  is  very  mean  of  you  not  to  ask  me  to  go  too  and 
?>-e  your  bridesmaid." 

"  I  don't  expect  to  have  such  a  thing,"  said  Fleda. 

"Not? — Horrid!  I  wouldn't  be  married  so,  Fleda.  You 
don't  know  the  world,  little  Oueechy  ;  the  art  de  vousfaire  valoir 
I  am  afraid  is  unknown  to  you." 

"  So  it  may  remain  with  my  good  will,"  said  Fleda. 

"  Why?  "  said  Constance. 

"  I  have  never  felt  the  want  of  it,"  said  Fleda  simply. 

"  When  are  you  going  ?  "  said  Constance  after  a  minute's  pause* 

"  By  the  Europa." 

"  But  this  is  a  very  sudden  move  !  " 

"Yes— very  sudden." 

"I  should  think  you  would  want  a  little  time  to  make  prepara 
tions." 

"  That  is  all  happily  taken  off  my  hands,"  said  Fleda.  "  Mrs. 
Carleton  has  written  to  her  sister  in  England  to  take  care  of  it  for 
me." 

"  I  didn't  know  that  Mrs.  Carleton  had  a  sister. — What's  her 
name  ?  " 

"  Lady  Peterborough." 

Constance  was  silent  again. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  mourning,  Fleda?  wear  white, 
I  suppose.  As  nobody  there  knows  anything  about  you,  you  won't 
care." 

"  I  do  not  care  in  the  least,"  said  Fleda  calmly  ;  "my  feeling 
would  quite  as  soon  choose  white  as  black.  Mourning  so  often  goes 
alone,  that  I  should  think  grief  might  be  excused  for  shunning  its 
company." 

"  And  as  you  have  not  put  it  on  yet/'  said  Constance,  "  you  won't 
?el  the  change.  And  then  in  reality  after  all  he  was  only  a  cousin." 

Fieda's  quiet  mood,  sober  and  tender  as  it  was,  could  go  to  a  cer 
tain  length  of  endurance,  but  this  asked  too  much.  Dropping  the 
things  from  her  hands,  she  turned  from  the  trunk  beside  which  she 
was  kneeling  and  hiding  her  face  on  a  chair  wept  such  tears  as 
cousins  never  shed  for  each  other.  Constance  was  startled  and  dis- 
dressed  ;  and  Fieda's  quick  sympathy  knew  that  she  must  be  be 
fore  she  could  see  it. 

"  Vou  needn't  mind  it  at  all,  dear  Constance,"  she  said  as  soon 
as  she  could  speak, — "it's  no  matter — I  am  in  such  a  mood  some 
times  that  I  cannot  bear  anything.  Don't  think  of  it,"  she  said 
Kissing  her. 

Constance  however  could  not  for  the  remainder  of  her  visit  get 


QUEECHr.  521 

back  her  wonted   light   mood,    which   indeed  had  been  singularly 
wanting  to  her  during  the  whole  interview. 

Mrs.   Carleton  counted  the  days  to  the  steamer,  and  her  spirits 
rose  with  each  one.       Fleda's  spirits  were  quiet  to  the  last  degree, 
and  passive,  too  passive,  Mrs.  Carleton  thought.    She  did  not  know 
the  course   of  the  years   that   had  gone,  and  could  not  understand 
how  strangely  Fleda  seemed  to  herself  now  to  stand  alone,  broken 
oft"  from  her  old  friends  and  her  former  life,  on  a  little  piece  of  time 
that  was  like  an  isthmus  joining  two  continents.       Fleda  felt  it  all 
exceedingly  ;  felt  that  she  was  changing  from  one  sphere  of  life  tc 
another;  never  forgot  the  graves  she  had  left  at  Queechy,  and  a 
little    the    thoughts   and  prayers   that   had  sprung  up  beside  them 
She   felt,   with   all   of  Mrs.  Carleton's  kindness,  that  she  was  com 
pletely  alone,  with  no  one  on  her  side  theocean  to  look  to  ;  and  glad 
to  be  relieved  from  taking  active  part  in  anything  she  made  her  lit 
tle  bible  her  companion  for  the  greater  part  of  the  time. 

"  Are  you  going  to  carry  that  sober  face  all  the  way  to  Carleton  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Carleton  one  day  pleasantly. 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am." 

"  What  do  you  suppose  Guy  will  think  of  it?" 

But  the  thought  of  what  he  would  think  of  it,  and  what  he 
would  say  to  it,  and  how  fast  he  would  brighten  it,  made  Fleda 
burst  into  tears.  Mrs.  Carleton  resolved  to  talk  to  her  no  more  but 
to  get  her  home  as  fast  as  possible. 

"  I  have  one  consolation,"  said  Charlton  Rossitur  as  he  shook 
hands  with  her  on  board  the  steamer  ; — "  I  have  received  permis* 
sion,  from  headquarters,  to  co-me  and  see  you  in  England  ;  and  to 
that  I  shall  look  forward  constantly  from  this  time." 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

The  full  sum  of  me 

Is  sum  of  something  ;  which  to  term  in  gross, 
Is  an  unlesson'd  girl,  unschool'd,  unpractis'd: 
Happy  in  this,  she  is  not  yet  so  old 
But  she  may  learn  ;  and  happier  than  this, 
She  is  not  bred  so  dull  but  she  can  learn ; 
Happiest  of  all  is  that  her  gentle  spirit 
Commits  itself  to  your's  to  be  directed, 
As  from  her  lord,  her  governor,  her  king. 

MERCHANT  OF  VENICE, 

THEY  had  a  very  speedy  passage  to  the  other  side,  and  partly  in 
Consequence  of  that  Mr.  Carleton  was  not  found  waiting  for  them  ia 
Liverpool.  Mrs.  Carleton  would  not  tarry  there  but  hasten  down  at 
once  to  the  country,  thinking  to  be  at  home  before  the  news  of  their 
arrival. 

It  was  early  morning  of  one  fair  day  in  July  when  they  were  at 
last  drawing  near  the  end  of  their  journey.  They  would  have  reached 
it  the  evening  before  but  for  a  s*.  >rm  which  had  constrained  them 
tc  stop  and  wait  over  the  night  at  a  small  town  about  eight  miles  off. 
For  tear  then  of  passing  Guy  on  the  road  his  mother  sent  a  servant 


622  QUEECHY. 

before,  and  making  an  extraordinary  exertion  was  actually  herself 
in  the  carriage  by  seven  o'clock. 

Nothing  could  be  fairer  than  that  early  drive,  if  Fleda  might 
have  enjoyed  it  in  peace.  The  sweet  morning  air  was  exceed 
ing  sweet,  and  the  summer  light  fell  upon  a  perfect  luxuriance  of 
green  things.  Out  of  the  carriage  Fleda's  spirits  were  at  home, 
but  not  within  it;  and  it  was  sadly  irksome  to  be. obliged  to  hear 
and  respond  to  Mrs.  Carleton's  talk,  which  was  kept  up,  she  knew, 
in  the  charitable  intent  to  divert  her.  She  was  just  in  a  state 
lo  listen  to  nature's  talk  ;  to  the  other  she  attended  and  replied 
with  a  patient  longing  to  be  left  free  that  she  might  steady  and 
quiet  herself.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Carleron's  tact  discovered  this  in  the 
matter-of-course  and  uninterested  manner  of  her  rejoinders  ;  for 
as  they  entered  the  park  gates  she  became  silent,  and  the  long 
drive  from  them  to  the  house  was  made  without  a  word  on  either 
side. 

For  a  length  of  way  the  road  was  through  a  forest  of  trees  of 
noble  growth,  which  in  some  places  closed  their  aims  overhead  and 
in  all  sentinelled  the  path  in  stately  array.  The  eye  had  no  scope 
beyond  the  ranks  of  this  magnificent  body  ;  Carleton  park  was  cele 
brated  for  its  trees  ;  but  magnificent  though  they  were  and  dearly 
as  Fleda  loved  every  form  of  forest  beauty,  she  felt  oppressed.  The 
eye  forbidden  to  range,  so  was  the  mind,  shut  in  to  itself  ;  and  she 
only  felt  under  the  gloom  and  shadow  of  those  great  trees  the 
shadow  of  the  responsibilities  and  of  the  change  that  were  coming 
upon  her.  But  after  a  while  the  ranks  began  to  be  thinned  and  the 
ground  to  be  broken  ;  the  little  touches  of  beauty  with  which  the 
sun  had  enlivened  the  woodland  began  to  grow  broader  and  cheer- 
fuller  ;  and  then  as  the  forest  scattered  away  to  the  right  and  left, 
gay  streams  of  light  came  through  the  glades  and  touched  the  sur 
face  of  the  rolling  ground,  where  in  the  hollows,  on  the  heights,  on 
the  sloping  sides  of  the  dingles,  knots  of  trees  of  yet  more  luxuriant 
and  picturesque  growth,  planted  or  left  by  the  cultivator's  hand  long 
ago  and  trained  by  no  hand  but  nature's,  stood  so  as  to  distract  a 
painter's  eye  ;  and  just  now,  in  the  fresh  gilding  of  the  morning  and 
with  all  the  witchery  of  the  long  shadows  upon  the  uneven  ground 
certainly  charmed  Fleda's  eye  and  mind  both.  Fancy  was  dancing 
again,  albeit  with  one  hand  upon  gravity's  shoulder,  and  the  danc- 
idg  was  a  little  nervous  too.  But  she  looked  and  caught  her  breath 
as  she  looked,  while  the  road  led  along  the  very  edge  of  a  dingle, 
and  then  was  lost  in  a  kind  of  enchanted  open  woodland — it  seemed 
so — and  then  passing  through  a  thicket  came  out  upon  a  broad 
sweep  of  green  turf  that  wiled  the  eye  by  its  smooth  facility  to  the 
distant  screen  of  oaks  and  beeches  and  firs  on  its  far  border.  It 
was  all  new.  Fleda's  memory  had  retained  only  an  indistinct  vision 
of  beauty,  like  the  face  of  an  angel  in  a  cloud  as  painters  have 
drawn  it  ;  now  came  out  the  beautiful  features  one  after  another,  as 
if  she  had  never  seen  them. 

So  far  nature  had  seemed  to  stand  alone.  But  now  another  hand 
appeared,  not  interfering  with  nature  but  adding  to  her.  The  road 
came  upon  a  belt  of  the  shrubbery  where  the  old  tenants  of  the 
soil  were  mingled  with  lighter  and  gayer  companionship  and  ic 
some  instances  gave  it  place  ;  though  in  general  the  mingling  wat 


qUEECHY.  523 

fery  graceful.  There  was  never  any  crowding  of  effects  ;  it  seemed 
all  nature  still,  only  as  if  several  climes  had  joined  together  to 
grace  one.  Then  that  was  past ;  and  over  smooth  undulating 
giound,  bearing  a  lighter  growth  of  foreign  wood  with  here  and 
there  a  stately  elm  or  ash  that  disdained  their  rivalry,  the  carriage 
came  under  the  brown  walls  and  turrets  of  the  house.  Fleda's 
mood  had  changed  again  ;  and  as  the  grave  outlines  rose  above 
her,  half  remembered  and  all  the  more  for  that  imposing,  she 
trembled  at  the  thought  of  what  she  had  come  there  to  do  and  tc 
be.  She  felt  very  nervous  and  strange  and  out  of  place,  and  longec 
for  the  familiar  face  and  voice  that  would  bid  her  be  at  home 
Mrs.  Carleton,  now,  was  not  enough  of  a  stand-by.  With  all  thatt 
Fleda  descended  from  the  carriage  with  her  usual  quiet  demure* 
ness  ;  no  one  that  did  not  know  her  well  would  have  seen  her  in 
any  other  token  of  emotion  than  a  somewhat  undue  and  wavering 
color. 

They  were  welcomed,  at  least  one  of  them  was,  with  every  ap 
pearance  of  sincerity  by  the  most  respectable-looking  personage 
who  opened  to  them  and  whom  Fleda  remembered  instantly.  The 
array  of  servants  in  the  hall  would  almost  have  startled  her  if  she 
had  not  recollected  the  same  Hng  on  her  first  coming  to  Carleton. 
She  stepped  in  with  a  curious  ,  cnse  of  that  first  time,  when  she  had 
come  there  a  little  child. 

"Where  is  your  master?"  was  Mrs.  Carleton's  immediate  de 
mand. 

"  Mr.  Carleton  set  off  this  morning  for  Liverpool." 

Mrs.  Carleton  gave  a  quick  glance  at  Fleda,  who  kept  her  eyes 
at  home. 

"We  did  not  meet  him — we  have  not  passed  him — how  long 
ago  ?  "  were  her  next  rapid  words. 

"My  master  left  Carleton  as  early  as  five  o'clock — he  gave 
orders  to  drive  as  fast  as  possible." 

"Then  he  had  gone  through  Hollonby  and  hour  before  we  left 
it,"  said  Mrs.  Carleton  looking  again  at  her  companion  ; — "  but  he 
will  hear  of  us  at  Carstairs — we  stopped  there  yesterday  afternoon 
—he  will  be  back  again  in  a  few  hours  I  am  sure.  Then  we  have 
been  expected  ?  " 

"Yes   ma'am — my  master  gave  orders  that  you  should  be  ev 
oected." 

"  Is  all  well,  Popham?" 

"  All  is  well,  madam  !  " 

•'  Is  Lady  Peterborough  here  ?  " 

"  His  lordship  and  Lady  Peterborough  arrived  the  day  before 
yesterday,"  was  the  succinct  reply. 

Drawing  Fleda's  arm  within  hers  and  giving  kind  recognition  to 
the  rest  who  stood  around,  Mrs.  Carleton  led  her  to  the  stairs  and 
mounted  them,  repeating  in  a  whisper,  "  He  will  be  here  presently 
again."  They  went  to  Mrs.  Carleton's  dressing-room,  Fleda  won 
dering  in  an  internal  fever  whether  "orders  had  been  given  "  to 
expect  her  also  ?  from  the  old  butler's  benign  look  at  her  as  he  s  ;'d 
"  All  is  well !  "  she  could  not  help  thinking  it.  If  she  maintnii.v  d 
her  outward  quiet  it  was  the  merest  external  crust  of 


there  was  nothing  like  quiet  beneath  it ;  and  Mrs.  Carleton's  kisa 
and  fond  words  of  welcome  were  hardly  composing. 

Mrs.  Carleton  made  her  sit  down,  and  with  very  gentle  hands 
was  busy  arranging  her  hair,  when  the  housekeeper  came  in  ;  to 
pay  her  more  particular  respects  and  to  offer  her  services.  Fleda 
hardly  ventured  a  glance  to  see  whether  she  looked  benign.  She 
was  a  dignified  elderly  person,  as  stately  and  near  as  handsome  as 
Mrs.  Carletovi  herself. 

"  My  deai  Fleda,"  said  the  latter  when  she  had  finished  the  hair 

54  I  am  going  to  see  my  sister — will  you  let  Mrs.  Fothergill  helj: 
ou  in  anything  you  want,  and  take  you  then  to  the  library — you 
tvill  find  no  one,  and  I  will  come  to  you  there.  Mrs.  Fothergil,,  I 
recommend  you  to  the  particular  care  of  this  lady." 

The  recommendation  was  not  needed,  Fleda  thought,  or  was  very 
effectual ;  the  housekeeper  served  her  with  most  assiduous  care, 
and  in  absolute  silence.  Fleda  hurried  the  finishing  of  her  toilet. 

"  Are  the  people  quiet  in  the  ^  \intry  ?  "  she  forced  herself  to  say. 

"  Perfectly  quiet,  ma'am.  It  ,eded  only  that  my  master  should 
be  at  home  to  make  them  so." 

"  How  is  that?" 

"  He  has  their  love  and  their  ear,  ma'am,  and  so  it  is  that  he  can 
just  do  his  pleasure  with  them." 

"  How  is  it  in  the  neighboring  country  ?  " 

"They're  quiet  ma'am,  I  believe, — mostly — there's  been  some 
little  disturbance  in  one  place  and  another,  and  more  fear  of  it,  as 
well  as  I  can  make  out,  but  it's  well  got  over,  as  it  appears.  The 
noblemen  and  gentlemen  in  the  country  around  were  very  glad,  all 
of  them  I  am  told,  of  Mr.  Carleton's  return.  Is  there  nothing 
more  I  can  do  for  you,  ma'am  ?  " 

The  last  question  was  put  with  an  indefinable  touch  of  kindliness 
which  had  not  softened  the  respect  of  her  first  words.  Fleda 
begged  her  to  show  the  way  to  the  library,  which  Mrs.  Fothergill 
immediately  did,  remarking  as  she  ushered  her  in  that  "  those  were 
Mr.  Carleton's  favorite  rooms." 

Fleda  did  not  need  to  be  told  that ;  she  put  the  remark  and  the 
benignity  together,  and  drew  a  nervous  inference.  But  Mrs. 
Fothergill  was  gone  and  she  was  alone.  Nobody  was  there,  as 
Mrs.  Carleton  had  said. 

Fleda  stood  still  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  looking  round  her,  ir 
±  bewildered  effort  to  realize  the  past  and  the  present ;  with  a*l  the 
mind  in  the  world  to  cry,  but  there  was  too  great  a  pressure  of  ex 
citement  and  too  mudh  strangeness  of  feeling  at  work.  Nothing 
before  her  in  the  dimly  familiar  place  served  at  all  to  lessen  this 
feeling,  and  recovering  from  her  maze  she  went  to  one  of  the  glazed 
doors,  which  stood  open,  and  turned  her  back  upon  the  room  with 
its  oppressive  recollections.  Her  eye  lighted  upon  nothing  that  was 
not  quiet  now.  A  secluded  piece  of  smooth  green,  partially  bor- 
dered  with  evergreens  and  set  with  light  shrubbery  of  rare  kinds,  ex- 
quisitely  kept ;  over  against  her  a  sweetbriar  that  seemed  to  have 
run  wild,  indicating,  Fleda  was  sure,  the  entrance  of  the  path  to 
the  rose  garden ,  that  her  memory  alone  would  hardly  have  helped 
her  to  fine.  All  this  in  the  bright  early  summer  morning,  and  the 
»weet  aromatic  smell  of  firs  and  flowers  coming  with  every  breath. 


QUEECHY.  525 

There  were  draughts  of  refreshment  in  the  air.  It  composed  her, 
and  drinking  it  in  delightedly  Fleda  stood  with  folded  arms  in  the 
doorway,  half  forgetting  herself  and  her  position,  and  geing  in 
fancy  from  the  firs  and  the  roses  over  a  very  wide  field  of  medita 
tion  indeed.  So  lost,  that  she  started  fearfully  on  suddenly  becom 
ing  aware  that  a  figure  had  come  just  beside  her. 

!t  was  an  elderly  and  most  gentlemanly-looking-man,  as  a  glance 
made  her  know.  Fleda  was  reassured  and  ashamed  in  a  breath. 
The  gentleman  did  not  notice  her  confusion  however,  otherwise 
^han  by  a  very  pleasant  and  well-bred  smile,  and  immediately 
entered  into  some  light  remarks  on  the  morning,  the  place,  and  the 
improvements  Mr.  Carleton  had  made  in  the  latter.  Though  he 
said  the  place  was  one  of  those  which  could  bear  very  well  to  want 
improvement ;  but  Carleton  was  always  finding  something  to  dc 
which  excited  his  admiration. 

"  Landscape  gardening  is  one  of  the  pleasantest  of  amusements," 
said  Fleda. 

"  I  have  just  knowledge  enough  in  the  matter  to  admire  ; — tc 
originate  any  ideas  is  beyond  me  ;  I  have  to  depend  for  them  uporv 
my  gardener, — and  my  wife — and  so  I  lose  a  pleasure,  I  suppose  , 
but  every  man  has  his  own  particular  hobby.  Carleton,  however, 
has  more  than  his  share — he  has  half  a  dozen,  I  think." 

"  Half  a  dozen  hobbies  !  "  said  Fleda. 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  not  call  them  hobbies,  for  he  manages  to  ride 
them  all  skilfully  ;  and  a  hobby-horse,  I  believe,  always  runs  away 
with  a  man?" 

Fleda  could  hardly  return  his  smile.  She  thought  people  were 
possessed  with  an  unhappy  choice  of  subjects  in  talking  to  her  that 
morning.  But  fancying  that  she  had  very  ill  kept  up  her  part  in  the 
conversation  and  must  have  looked  like  a  simpleton,  she  forced  her 
self  to  break  the  silence  which  followed  the  last  remark,  and  asked 
the  same  question  she  had  asked  Mrs.  Fothergill, — if  the  country 
was  quiet  ? 

"Outwardly  quiet,"  he  said  ;— "  O  yes — there  is  no  more  diffi 
culty — that  is,  none  which  cannot  easily  be  handled.  There  was 
some  danger  a  few  months  ago,  but  it  is  blown  over  ;  all  was  quiet 
on  Carleton'S  estates  so  soon  as  he  was  at  home,  and  that  of  course 
'iad  great  influence  on  the  neighborhood.  No,  there  is  nothing  to 
oe  apprehended.  He  has  the  hearts  of  his  people  completely,  and 
one  who  has  their  hearts  can  do  what  he  pleases  with  their, heads, 
you  know.  Well  he  deserves  it — he  has  done  a  great  deal  for 
them." 

Fleda  was  afraid  to  ask  in  what  way, — but  perhaps  he  read  the 
question  in  her  eyes. 

"  That's  one  of  his  hobbies — ameliorating  the  condition  of  the 
poorer  classes  on  his  estates.  He  has  given  himself  to  it  for  some 
years  back  ;  he  has.accomplished  a  great  deal  for  them — a  vast  deal 
indeed  !  He  has  changed  the  face  of  things,  mentally  and  morally, 
iri  several  places,  with  his  adult  schools,  and  agricultural  systems, 
arid  I  know  not  what;  but  the  most  powerful  means  I  think  after  all 
Hals  been  the  weight  of  his  personal  influence,  by  which  he  can  in 
troduce  and  carry  through  anv  measure  ;  neither  ignorance  not 
rior  obstinacy  seem  to  make  head  against  him  it 


S2«  QVEECHY. 

a   peculiar  combination   of  qualities,  I  think, — very  peculiar   and 
•"are, — to  deal  successfully  with  the  mind  of  the  masses." 

"I  should  think  so  indeed,"  said  Fleda. 

"  He  has  it — I  don't  comprehend  it — and  I  have  not  studied  his 
flaachinery  enough  to  understand  that  ;  but  I  have  seen  the  effects. 
Never  should  have  thought  he  was  the  kind  of  man  either — but 
there  it  is  ! — I  don't  comprehend  him.  There  is  only  one  fault  to  be 
found  with  him  though." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  said  Fleda  smiling. 

"  He  has  built  a  fine  dissenting  chapel  down  here  toward  Hoi) 
onby,"  he  said  gravely,  looking  her  in  the  face, — "  and  what  i.-j 
yet  worse,  his  uncle  tells  me,  he  goes  there  half  the  time  himself!  " 

Fleda  could  not  help  laughing,  nor  coloring,  at  his  manner. 

"  I  thought  it  was  always  considered  a  meritorious  action  to  build 
a  church,"  she  said. 

•'  Indubitably. — But  you  see,  this  was  a  chapel." 

The  laugh  and  the  color  both  grew  more  unequivocal — Fleda 
could  not  help  it. 

"  1  beg  your  pardon, — sir — I  have  not  learned  such  nice  distinc 
tions. — Perhaps  a  chapel  was  wanted  just  in  that  place." 

"  That  is  presumable.  But  he  might  be  wanted  somewhere  else. 
However,"  said  the  gentleman  with  a  good-humored  smile, — "  his 
uncle  forgives  him  ;  and  if  his  mother  cannot  influence  him, — I  am 
afraid  nobody  else  will.  There  is  no  help  for  it.  And  I  should  be 
very  sorry  to  stand  ill  with  him.  I  have  given  you  the  dark  side 
of  his  character." 

11  What  is  the  other  side  in  the  contrast  ?  "  said  Fleda,  wondering 
at  herself  for  her  daring. 

"  It  is  not  for  me  to  say,"  he  answered  with  a  slight  shrug  of  the 
shoulders  and  an  amused  glance  at  her  ; — "  I  suppose  it  depends 
upon  people's  vision, — but  if  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  instance  a 
bright  spot  that  was  shown  to  me  the  other  day,  that  I  confess, 
when  I  look  at  it,  dazzles  my  eyes  a  little." 

Fieda  only  bowed  ;  she  dared  not  speak  again. 

"  There  was  a  poor  fellow — the  son  of  one  of  Mr.  Carleton's  old 
tenants  down  here  at  Enchapel, — who  was  under  sentence  of  death, 
lying  in  prison  at  Carstairs.  The  father,  I  am  told,  is  an  excellent 
man  and  a  good  tenant ;  the  son  had  been  a  miserable  scapegrace, 
and  now  for  some  crime — I  forget  what — had  at  last  been  brought 
to  justice.  The  evidence  against  him  was  perfect  and  the  offence 
was  not  trifling — there  was  not  the  most  remote  chance  of  a  pardon, 
but  it  seemed  the  poor  wretch  had  been  building  up  his  dependence 
upon  that  hope  and  was  resting  on  it  ;  and  consequently  was  alto 
gether  indisposed  and  unfit  to  give  his  attention  to  the  subjects  that 
his  situation  rendered  proper  for  him. 

"The  gentleman  who  gave  me  this  story  was  requested  by  a 
brother  clergyman  to  go  with  him  to  visit  the  prisoner.  They  found 
him  quite  stupid— unmoveable  by  all  that  could  be  urged,  or  rather 
perhaps  the  style  of  the  address,  as  it  was  described  to  me,  was 
fitted  to  confound  and  bewilder  the  man  rather  than  enlighten  him. 
In  the  midst  of  all  this  Mr.  Carleton  came  in—he  was  just  then  on 
the  wing  for  America,  and  he  had  heard  of  the  poor  creature's  con 
dition  in  a  visit  to  his  father.  He  came, — my  informant  said — like 


QUEECHT.  »7 

a  being  of  a  different  planet.  He  took  the  man's  hand, — he  was 
chained  foot  and  wrist, — •  My  poor  friend,'  he  said,  '  I  have  been 
thinking  of  you  here,  shut  out  from  the  light  of  the  sun,  and  I 
thought  you  might  like  to  see  the  face  of  a  friend'; — with  that 
singular  charm  of  manner  which  he  knows  how  to  adapt  to  every 
body  and  every  occasion.  The  man  was  melted  at  once — at  his 
feet,  as  it  were, — he  could  do  anything  with  him.  Carleton  be 
gan  then,  quietly,  to  set  before  him  the  links  in  the  chain  of 
evidence  which  had  condemned  him — one  by  one — in  such  a  way 
as  to  prove  to  him,  by  degrees  but  irresistibly,  that  he  had  no 
hope  in  this  world.  The  man  was  perfectly  subdued — sat  listen 
ing  and  looking  into  those  powerful  eyes  that  perhaps  you  know, 
taking  in  all  his  words  and  completely  in  his  hand.  And  then 
Carleton  went  on  to  bring  before  him  the  considerations  that  he 
thought  should  affect  him  in  such  a  case,  in  a  way  that  this  gentle 
man  said  was  indescribably  effective  and  winning;  till  that  hardened 
creature  was  broken  down, — sobbing  like  a  child, — actually  sob 
bing  ! — " 

Fleda  did  her  best,  but  she  was  obliged  to  hide  her  face  in  her 
hands,  let  what  would  be  thought  of  her. 

"  It  was  the  finest  exhibition  of  eloquence,  this  gentleman  said,  he 
had  ever  listened  to. —  For  me  it  was  an  exhibition  of  another  kind. 
I  would  have  believed  such  an  account  of  few  men,  but  of  all  the 
men  I  know  I  would  least  have  believed  it  of  Guy  Carleton  a  few 
years  ago  ;  even  now  I  can  hardly  believe  it.  But  it  is  a  thing  that 
would  do  honor  to  any  man." — 

Fleda  felt  that  the  tears  were  making  their  way  between  her 
fingers,  but  she  could  not  help  it  ;  and  she  presently  knew  that 
her  companion  had  gone  and  she  was  left  alone  again.  Who  was 
this  gentleman?  and  how  much  did  he  know  about  her?  More 
than  that  she  was  a  stranger,  Fleda  was  sure  ;  and  dreading  his 
return,  or  that  somebody  else  might  come  and  find  her  with  the 
tokens  of  tears  upon  her  face,  she  stepped  out  upon  the  green- 
savvrd  and  made  for  the  flaunting  sweet-briar  that  seemed  to  beckon 
her  to  visit  its  relations. 

The  entrance  of  a  green  path  was  there,  or  a  grassy  glade,  more 
or  less  wide,  leading  through  a  beautiful  growth  of  firs  and  larches. 
No  roses,  nor  any  other  ornamental  shrubs  ;  only  the  soft,  well- 
iept  footway  through  the  woodland.  Fleda  went  gently  on  and 
en,  admiring,  where  the  trees  sometimes  swept  back,  leaving  an 
jpening,  and  at  other  places  stretched  their  graceful  branches  over 
her  head.  The  perfect  condition  of  everything  to  the  eye,  the  rich 
colored  vegetation, — of  varying  color  above  and  below, — the 
absolute  retirement,  and  the  strong  pleasant  smell  of  the  ever 
greens,  had  a  kind  of  charmed  effect  upon  senses  and  mind  too. 
It  was  a  fairyland  sort  of  place.  The  presence  of  its  master 
seemed  everywhere  ;  it  was  like  him  ;  and  Fleda  pressed  on  to  see  yet 
livelier  marks  of  his  character  and  fancy  beyond.  By  degrees  the 
wood  began  to  thin  on  one  side ;  then  at  once  the  glade  opened 
into  a  bright  little  lawn  rich  with  roses  in  full  bloom.  Fleda  was 
stopped  short  at  the  sudden  vision  of  loveliness.  There  was  the 
least  possible  appearance  of  design  ;  no  dry  beds  were  to  be  seen ; 
the  luxuriant  clumps  of  Provence  and  white  roses,  with  th«  varieties 


628  QUEECHF. 

of  the  latter,  seemed  to  have  chosen  their  own  places  ;  only  to  have 
chosen  them  very  happily.  One  hardly  imagined  that  they  had 
submitted  to  dictation,  if  it  were  not  that  Queen  Flora  never  was 
known  to  make  so  effective  a  disposition  of  her  forces  without  help. 
The  screen  of  trees  was  very  thin  on  the  border  of  this  opening,  so 
thin  that  the  light  from  beyond  came  through.  On  a  slight  rocky 
elevation  which  formed  the  further  side  of  it  sat  an  exquisite  little 
Moorish  temple,  about  which  and  the  face  of  the  rock  below  some 
Noisette  and  Multiflora  climbers  were  vying  with  each  other  ;  and 
just  at  the  entrance  of  the  further  path  a  white  dog-rose  had  thrown 
kself  over  the  way,  covering  the  lower  branches  of  the  trees  wid 
its  blossoms. 

Fleda  stood  spell-bound  a  good  while,  with  a  breath  oppressed 
with  pleasure.  But  what  she  had  seen  excited  her  to  see  more,  and 
a  dim  recollection  of  the  sea-view  from  somewhere  in  the  walk 
drew  her  on.  Roses  met  her  now  frequently.  Now  and  then  a 
climber,  all  alone,  seemed  to  have  sought  protection  in  a  tree  by 
the  path-side,  and  to  have  displayed  itself  thence  in  the  very 
wantonness  of  security,  hanging  out  its  flowery  wreaths,  fearless  of 
hand  or  knife.  Clusters  of  Noisettes,  or  of  French  or  Damask 
roses,  where  the  ground  was  open  enough,  stood  without  a  rival  and 
needing  no  foil,  other  than  the  beautiful  surrounding  of  dark  ever 
green  foliage.  But  the  distance  was  not  long  before  she  came  out 
upon  a  wider  opening  and  found  what  she  was  seeking— the  sight 
of  the  sea.  The  glade,  here,  was  upon  the  brow  of  high  ground, 
and  the  wood  disappearing  entirely  for  a  space  left  the  eye  free  to 
go  over  the  lower  tree-tops  and  the  country  beyond  to  the  distant 
shore  and  sea-line.  Roses  were  here  too  ;  the  air  was  full  of  the 
sweetness  of  Damask  and  Bourbon  varieties  ;  and  a  few  beautiful 
Banksias,  happily  placed,  contrasted  without  interfering  with 
them.  It  was  very  still ; — it  was  very  perfect ; — the  distant  country 
was  fresh-colored  with  the  yet  early  light  which  streamed  between 
the  trees  and  laid  lines  of  enchantment  upon  the  green  turf;  and 
the  air  came  up  from  the  sea-board  and  bore  the  breath  of  the 
roses  to  Fleda  every  now  and  then  with  a  gentle  puff  of  sweetness. 
Such  light — she  had  seen  none  such  light  since  she  was  %  child. 
Was  it  the  burst  of  nfental  sunshine  that  had  made  it  so  bright?—- 
or  was  she  going  to  be  really  a  happy  child  again?  No — no,- 
uot  that  ;  and  yet  something  very  like  it.  So  like  it  that  she  almost 
startled  at  herself.  She  went  no  further.  She  could  not  have 
borne,  just  then,  to  see  any  more  ;  and  feeling  her  heart  too  full 
she  stood  even  there,  with  hands  crossed  upon  her  bosom,  looking 
away  from  the  roses  to  the  distant  sea-line. 

That  said  something  very  different.  That  was  very  sobering  ;  if 
she  had  needed  sobering,  which  she  did  not.  But  it  helped  her  to 
arrange  the  scattered  thoughts  which  had  been  pressing  confus 
edly  upon  her  brain.  "Look  away  from  the  roses  "  indeed  she 
could  not,  for  the  same  range  of  yision  took  in  the  sea  and  them. — 
and  the  same  range  of  thought.  These  might  stand  for  an  emblem 
of  the  present;  that,  of  the  future,— grave,  far-off,  impenetrable; 
• — and  passing  as  it  were  the  roses  of  time  Fleda  fixed  upon  that 
image  of  eternity  ;  and  weighing  the  one  against  the  other,  felt, 
never  in  her  life  more  keenly,  how  wild  it  would  be  to  forget  ia 


QUEKCHY.  52S» 

smelling  the  roses  her  preparations  tor  that  distant  voyage  that  must 
be  made  from  the  shores  where  they  grow.  With  one  eye  upon  this. 
brightest  bit  of  earth  before  her,  the  other  mentally  was  upoa 
Hugh's  grave.  The  roses  could  not  be  sweeter  to  any  one  ;  but  in 
view  of  the  launching  away  into  that  distant  sea-line,  in  view  of  the 
issues  on  the  other  shore,  in  view  of  the  welcome  that  might  be  had 
there, — the  roses  might  fade  and  wither,  but  her  happiness  could 
not  go  with  their  breath.  They  were  something  to  be  loved,  to  be 
used,  to  be  thankful  for, — but  not  to  live  upon  ;  something  too  tha* 
whispered  of  an  increased  burden  of  responsibility,  and  never  more" 
deeply  than  at  that  moment  did  Fleda  remember  her  mother  i 
prayer  ;  never  more  simply  recognized  that  happiness  could  not  be 
made  of  these  things.  She  might  be  as  happy  at  Queechy  as  here. 
It  depended  on  the  sunlight  of  undying  hopes,  which  indeed 
would  give  wonderful  color  to  the  flowers  that  might  be  in  her  way  ; 
— on  the  possession  of  resources  the  spring  of  which  would  never 
dry  ; — on  the  peace  which  secures  the  continual  feast  of  a  merry 
heart.  Fleda  could  take  her  new  honors  and  advantages  very 
meekly,  and  very  soberly, ^with  all  her  appreciation  of  them.  The 
same  work  of  life  was  to  be  done  here  as  at  Queechy.  To  fulfil  the 
trust  committed  to  her,  larger  here — to  keep  her  hope  for  the 
future — undeceived  by  the  sunshine  of  earth  to  plant  her  roses 
where  they  would  bloom  everlastingly — 

The  weight  of  these  things  bowed  Fleda  to  the  ground  and  made 
her  bury  her  face  in  her  hands.  But  there  was  one  item  of  happi 
ness  from  which  her  thoughts  never  even  in  imagination  dissevered 
themselves,  and  round  it  they  gathered  now  in  their  weakness.  A 
strong  mind  and  heart  to  uphold  hers, — a  strong  hand  for  hers  to 
rest  in, — that  was  a  blessing  ;  and  Fleda  would  have  cried  heartily 
but  that  her  feelings  were  too  high-wrought.  They  made  her  deaf 
to  the  light  sound  of  footsteps  coming  over  the  grass, — till  two 
hands  gently  touched  hers  and  lifted  her  up,  and  then  Fleda  was 
at  home.  But  surprised  and  startled  she  could  hardly  lift  up  her 
("ace.  Mr.  Carle  ton's  greeting  was  as  grave  and  gentle  as  if  she 
had  been  a  stray  child. 

"  Do  not  fancy  I  am  going  to  thank  you  for.  the  grace  you  have 
shown  me,"  said  he  lightly.  "  I  know, you  would  never  have  done 
\t  if  circumstances  had  not  been  hard  pleaders  in  my  cause.  I 
frill  thank  you  presently  when  you  have  answered  one  or  two* 
'•  uestions  for  me." 

•"'  Questions  ?  "  said  Fleda  looking  up.  But  she  blushed  the  next 
distant  at  her  own  simplicity. 

He  was  leading  her  back  on  the  path  she  had  come.  No 
farther  however  than  to  the  first  opening,  where  the  climbing  dog- 
tose  hung  over  the  way.  There  he  turned  aside  crossing  the  little 
^Jot  of  greensward,  and  they  ascended  some  steps  cut  in  the  rock 
to  the.pavilion  Fleda  had  looked  at  from  a  distance. 

It  stood  high  enough  to  command  the  same  sea-view.  On  that 
side  it  was  entirely  open,  and  of  very  light  construction  on  the 
others.  Several  people  were  there  ;  Fleda  could  hardly  tell  how 
many  ;  and  when  Lord  Peterborough  was  presented  to  her  she  did 
not  find  out  that  he  was  her  morning's  acquaintance.  Her  f\c 
only  took  in  besides  that  there  were  one  or  two  ladies,  awd  \ 


530  QUEECHY. 

clergyman  in  trie  dress  of  the  Church  of  England ';  she  could  no! 
distinguish.  Yet  she  stood  beside  Mr.  Carleton  with  all  her  usua) 
quiet  dignity,  though  her  eye  did  not  leave  the  ground  and  her 
words  were  in  no  higher  key  than  was  necessary,  and  though  she 
could  hardly  bear  the  unchanged  easy  tone  of  his.  The  birds  were 
in  a  perfect  ecstasy  all  about  them  ;  the  soft  breeze  came  through 
the  trees,  gently  waving  the  branches  and  stirring  the  spray 
wreaths  of  the  roses,  the  very  fluttering  of  summer's  drapery  ; 
some  roses  looked  in  at  the  lattice,  arid  those  which  could  not  be 
there  sent  in  their  congratulations  on  the  breath  of  the  wind,  white 
;he  words  were  spoken  that  bound  them  together. 

Mr.  Carleton  then  dismissing  his  guests  to  the  house,  went  wit.h 
Fleda  again  the  other  way.  He  had  felt  the  extreme  trembling  ot 
the  hand  which  he  took,  and  would  not  go  in  till  it  was  quieted. 
He  led  her  back  to  the  very  rosh-bush  where  he  had  found  her, 
and  in  his  own  way,  presently  brought  her  spirit  home  from  its 
trembling  and  made  it  rest ;  and  then  suffered  her  to  stand  a  few 
minutes  quite  silent,  looking  out  again  over  the  fair  rich  spread  of 
country  that  lay  between  them  and  the  se,a. 

"Now  tell  me  Elfie,''  said  he  softly,  drawing  back  with  the 
$ame  old  caressing  and  tranquilizing  touch  the  hair  that  hung  over 
her  brow, — "  what  you  were  thinking  about  when  I  found  you 
here? — in  the  very  luxury  of  seclusion — behind  a  rose-bush." 

Fleda  looked  a  quick  look,  smiled,  and  hesitated,  and  then  said 
it  was  rather  a  confusion  of  thoughts. 

"  It  will  be  a  confusion  no  longer  when  you  have  disentangled 
them  for  me." 

"  I  don't  know — "  said  Fleda.  And  she  was  silent,  but  so  was 
he,  quietly  waiting  for  her  to  go  on. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  wonder  at  me,  Mr.  Carleton,"  she  said,  hesi-» 
tating  and  coloring. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said  smiling  ; — "  but  if  I  do  I  will  not  keep  you 
in  ignorance,  Elfie." 

"  I  was  almost  bewildered,  in  the  first  place, — with  beauty — and 
then—" 

"  Do  you  like  the  rose  garden  ?  " 

"  Like  it ! — I  cannot  speak  of  it !  " 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  speak  of  it,"  said  he  smiling  at  her.  "What 
followed  upon  liking  it,  Elfie?" 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Fleda,  looking  resolutely  away  from 
riim, — "  in  the  midst  of  all  this, — that  it  is  not  these  things  which 
make  people  happy." 

"There  is  no  question  of  that,"  he  replied.  "  I  have  realized  it 
thoroughly  for  a  few  months  past." 

"  No,  but  seriously,  I  mean,"  said  Fleda  pleadingly. 

"  And  seriously  you  are  quite  right,  dear  Elfie.     What  then?  " 

"I  was  thinking,"  said  Fle.da  speaking  with  some  difficulty,— • 
"  of  Hugh's  grave, — and  of  the  comparative  value  of  things  ;  an^ 
afraid,  I  believe, — especially — here — " 

"  Of  making  a  wrong  estimate  ?  " 

"Yes — and  of  not  doing  and  being  just  what  I  ought." 

Mi;  Carleton  was  silent  for  a  minute,  considering  the  brow 
his  fingers  drew  off  the  light  screen. 


QUKECHT.  531 

••  Will  you  trust  me  to  watch  over  and  tell  you  ?** 

Fleda  did  not  trust  her  voice  to  tell  him,  but  her  eyes  did  it. 

"As  to  the  estimate — the  remedy  is  to  'keep  ourselves  in  the 
lore  of  God  ; '  and  then  these  things  are  the  gifts  of  our  Father's 
hand  and  will  never  be  put  in  competition  with  him.  And  they  are 
never  so  sweet  as  when  taken  so." 

"Oh  I  know  that!  " 

"  This  is  a  danger  I  share  with  you.  We  will  watch  over  each 
other. ' ' 

Fleda  was  silent,  with  filling  eyes. 

"We  do  not  seek  our  happiness  in  these  things,"  he  said  ten 
derly.  "  I  never  found  it  in  them.  For  years,  whatever  others 
may  have  judged,  I  have  felt  myself  a  poor  man  ;  because  I  had 
not  in  the  world  a  friend  in  whom  I  could  have  entire  sympathy. 
And  if  I  am  rich  now,  it  is  not  in  any  treasure  that  I  look  to  enjoy 
in  this  world  alone." 

"  Oh  do  not,  Mr.  Carleton!  "  exclaimed  Fleda,  bowing  her  head 
in  distress,  and  giving  his  hand  an  earnest  entreaty. 

"  What  shall  I  not  do?  "  said  he  half  laughing  and  half  gently, 
bringing  her  face  near  enough  for  his  lips  to  try  another  kind  of 
eloquence.  "You  shall  not  do  this,  Elfie,  for  any  so  light  occa 
sion. — Was  this  the  whole  burden  of  those  grave  thoughts?  " 

"Not  quite — entirely — "  she  said  stammering.  "But  grave 
thoughts  are  not  always  unhappy." 

"  Not  always.  I  want  to  know  what  gave  yours  a  tinge  of  that 
color  this  morning." 

"  It  was  hardly  that. — You  know  what  Foster  says  about  '  power 
to  its  very  last  particle  being  duty ' — I  ^iieve  it  frightened  me  a 
little." 

"  If  you  feel  that  as  strongly  as  I  do,  Elfie,  it  will  act  as  a  strong 
corrective  to  the  danger  of  false  estimates." 

"  I  do  feel  it,"  said  Fleda.  "  One  of  my  fears  was  that  I  should 
not  feel  k  enough." 

"One  of  my  cares  will  be  that  you  do  not  act  upon  it  too  fiercely," 
said  he  smiling.  "The  power  being  limited  so  is  the  duty.  But 
you  shall  have  power  enough,  Elfie,  and  work  enough.  I  have 
precisely  what  I  have  needed — my  good  sprite  back  again." 

"With  a  slight  difference." 

"  What  difference?" 

"  She  is  to  act  under  direction  now." 

"  Not  at  all — only  under  safe  control,"  he  said  laughing. 

"  I  am  very  glad  of  the  difference,  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  Fleda, 
with  a  grave  and  grateful  remembrance  of  it. 

"  If  you  think  the  sprite's  old  office  is  gone,  you  are  mistaken," 
said  he.  "  What  were  your  other  fears  ? — one  was  that  you  should 
not  feel  enough  your  responsibility,  and  the  other  that  you  might 
forget  it." 

"  I  don't  know  that  there  were  any  other  particular  fears,"  said 
Fleda  ; — "I  had  been  thinking  of  all  these  things — " 

"And  what  else  ?  " 

Her  color  and  her  silence  begged  him  not  to  ask.  He  said  no 
more,  and  let  her  stand  still  again  looking  off  through  the  roses, 
while  her  mind  more  quietly  and  lightly  went  over  the  same  traur 


132  QUEECHT. 

of  thoughts  that  had  moved  it  before ;  gradually  calmed  ;  cam* 
back  from  being  a  stranger  to  being  at  home,  at  least  in  one  pres 
ence  ;  and  ended,  her  action  even  before  her  look  told  him  where, 
as  her  other  hand  unconsciously  was  joined  to  the  one  already  on 
his  arm.  A  mute  expression  of  feeling  the  full  import  of  which  he 
read,  even  before  her  eye  coming  back  from  its  musings  was  raised 
to  him,  perhaps  unconsciously  too,  with  all  the  mind  in  it ;  its 
timidity  was  not  more  apparent  than  its  simplicity  of  clinging  affec» 
tion  and  dependence.  Mr.  Carleton's  answer  was  in  three  wordst 
nit  in  the  tone  and  manner  that  accompanied  them  there  was  & 
esponse  to  every  part  of  her  appeal  ;  so  perfect  that  Fleda  wa: 
confused  at  her  own  frankness. 

They  began  to  move  toward  the  house,  but  Fleda  was  in  a  maze 
again  and  could  hardly  realize  anything.  "  His  wife  "  ! — was  she 
that? — had  so  marvellous  a  change  really  been  wrought  in  her? — 
the  little  asparagus-cutter  of  Queechy  transformed  into  the  mistress 
of  all  this  domain,  and  of  the  stately  mansion  of  which  they  caught 
glimpses  now  and  then,  as  they  drew  near  it  by  another  approach 
into  which  Mr.  Carleton  had  diverged.  And  his  wife  ! — that  was 
the  hardest  to  realize  of  all. 

She  was  as  far  from  realizing  it  when  she  got  into  the  house. 
They  entered  now  at  once  into  the  breakfast-room  where  the  same 
party  were  gathered  whom  she  had  met  once  before  that  morning. 
Mr.  Carleton,  the  elder,  and  Lord  Peterborough  and  Lady  Peter 
borough,  she  had  met  without  seeing.  But  Fleda  could  look  at 
them  now  ;  and  if  hrr  color  came  and  went  as  frankly  as  when  she 
was  a  child,  she  could  speak  to  them  and  meet  their  advances  with 
the  same  free  and  sweet  self-possession  as  then ;  the  rare  dignity  of 
a  little  wood-flower,  that  is  moved  by  a  breath,  but  recovers  as 
easily  and  instantly  its  quiet  standing.  There  were  one  or  two  who 
looked  a  little  curiously  at  first  to  see  whether  this  new  member  of 
the  family  were  worthy  of  her  place  and  would  fill  it  to  satisfy 
them.  Not  Mr.  Carleton  ;  he  never  sought  to  ascertain  the  value 
of  anything  that  belonged  to  him  by  a  popular  vote  ;  and  his  own 
judgment  always  stood  carelessly  alone.  But  Mrs.  Carleton  was 
less  sure  of  her  own  ground  or  of  others.  For  five  minutes  she 
noted  Fleda's  motions  and  words,  her  blushes  and  smiles,  as  she 
stood  talking  to  one  and  another  ; — for  five  minutes,  and  then  with 
i  little  smile  at  her  sister  Mrs.  Carleton  moved  off  to  the  breakfast- 
;able,  well  pleased  that  Lady  Peterborough  was  too  engaged  to 
answer  her.  Fleda  had  won  them  all.  Mr.  Carleton's  intervening 
shield  of  grace  and  kindness  was  only  needed  here  against  the  too 
much  attention  or  attraction  that  might  distress  her.  He  was  again, 
now  they  were  itl  presence  of  others,  exactly  what  he  had  been  to 
her  when  she  was  a  child;  the  same  cool  and  efficient  friend  and 
protector.  Nobody  irt  the  room  showed  less  thought  of  her,  except 
<\\  action;  a  great  many  little  things  done  for  her  pleasure  or  com 
fort,  so  quietly  that  nbbbdy  knew  it  but  one  person  arid  she  hardly 
noticed  it  at  trie  time.  All  could  riot  have  the  same  tact. 

There  was  an  uninterrupted  easy  flow  of  talk  at  the  table,  which 
Fltda  heard  just  enough  tb  join  in  where  it  was  necessary  ;  the  rest 
oi  the  time  she  sat  in  a  kind  of  abstraction,  dipping  enormous  straw- 
berrie*  one  by  erne  iiitb  whitfc  sugaf,  with  ii  cliHcilis  wSHt  bf  recbg- 


QUEECHY.  833 

nition  between  them  and  the  ends  of  her  fingers  ;  it  never  occurred 
to  her  that  they  had  picked  baskets  full. 

"  I  have  done  something  for  which  you  will  hardly  thank  me,  Mr. 
Carleton,"  said  Lord  Peterborough.  "  1  have  driven  this  lady  tc 
tears  within  the  first  hour  of  her  being  in  the  house." 

"  If  she  will  forgive  you,  I  will,  my  lord,"  Mr.  Carleton  answered 
carelessly. 

"  I  will  confess  myself  though,"  continued  his  lordship  looking 
it  the  face  that  was  so  intent  over  the  strawberries, — I  was  unde; 
he  impression  when  I  first  saw  a  figure  in  the  window  that  it  wn, 
,,ady  Peterborough.  I  own  as  soon  as  I  found  it  was  a  stranger  \ 
nad  my  suspicions — which  did  not  lack  confirmation  in  the  course 
of  the  interview — I  trust  I  am  forgiven  the  means  I  used." 

"  It  seems  you  had  your  curiosity  too,  my  lord,"  said  Mr.  Carle' 
ton  the  uncle. 

"  Which  ought  in  all  justice  to  have  lacked  gratification/'  sai*. 
Lady  Peterborough.  "I  hope  Fleda  will  not  be  too  ready  to  for 
give  you." 

"  I  expect  forgiveness  nevertheless,"  said  he  looking  <tt  Jt  leda. 
"  Must  I  wait  for  it?" 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  sir." 

And  then  she  gave  him  a  very  frank  smile  and  t^uSh  as  she 
added,  "  I  beg  pardon — you  know  my  tongue  is  American/' 

44  I  don't  like  that,"  said  his  lordship  gravely. 

44  Out  of  the  abundance  of  the  heart  the  moutn  speaketh,"  said 
the  elder  Carleton.  "The  heart  being  English  we  may  hope  the 
tongue  will  become  so  too." 

"  I  will  not  assure  you  of  that,  sir,"  Fleda  said  laughingly, 
though  her  cheeks  showed  the  conversation  was  not  carried  on 
without  effort.  Oddly  enough  nobody  saw  it  with  ihy  dissatisfac 
tion. 

"  Of  what,  madam  ?  "  said  Lord  Peterborough. 

"  That  I  will  not  always  keep  a  rag  of  the  stars  And  stripes  fly. 
ing  somewhere." 

But  that  little  speech  had  almost  been  toe  much  for  her  equa 
nimity. 

"  Like  Queen  Elizabeth  who  retained  the  crucifix  when  she  gave 
-p  the  profession  of  popery." 

11  Very  unlike  indeed  !  "  said  Fleda,  endeavoring  to  understand 
vhat  Mr.  Carleton  was  saying  to  her  about  wood  strawberries  arid 
hautbois. 

"  Will  you  allow  that,  Carletort  ?  " 

"  What,  my  lord  ?" 

44  A  rival  banner  to  float  alongside  of  St.  George's?" 

4<  The  flags  are  friendly,  my  lord." 

"  Hum — just  now, — they  may  seem  so. — Has  your  little  standard- 
bearer  anything  of  a  rebellious  disposition  ?  " 

44  Not  against  any  lawful  authority,  f  hope,'    said  Fleda. 

44  Then  there  is  hope  for  you  Mr.  Carleton,  that  you  will  be  able 
te  prevent  the  introduction  of  mischievous  doctrines." 

14  For  shame,  Lord  Peterborough  !  "  said  his  wife, — "  what  atro 
cious  Suppositions  you  are  making.  I  ant  blushing,  I  am  sure,  fift1 
your  want  of  discernment." 


534  QUEECHV. 

"  Why — yes — "  said  his  lordship,  looking  at  another  face  whoae 
blushes  were  more  unequivocal, — "  it  may  seem  so — there  is  no  ap. 
pearance  of  anything  untoward,  but  she  is  a  woman  after  all.  I 
will  try  her.  Mrs.  Carleton,  don't  you  think  with  my  Lady  Peter 
borough  that  in  the  present  nineteenth  century  women  ought  to 
stand  more  on  that  independent  footing  from  which  lordly  monopoly 
has  excluded  them  ?  " 

The  first  name  Fleda  thought  belonged  to  another  person,  and 
her  downcast  eyelids  prevented  her  seeing  to  whom  it  was  ad 
dressed.  It  was  no  matter,  for  any  answer  was  anticipated. 

"  The  boast  of  independence  is  not  engrossed  by  the  boldest  foo: 
ing,  my  lord." 

"  She  has  never  considered  the  subject,"  said  Lady  Peterborough, 

"It  is  no  matter,"  said  his  lordship.  "  I  must  respectfully  beg 
an  answer  to  my  question." 

The  silence  made  Fleda  look  up. 

44  Don't  you  think  that  the  rights  of  the  weak  ought  to  be  on  a 
perfect  equality  with  those  of  the  strong  ?  " 

"  The  rights  of  the  weak  as  such — yes,  my  lord." 

The  gentlemen  smiled  ;  the  ladies  looked  rather  puzzled. 

"  I  have  no  more  to  say,  Mr.  Carleton,"  said  his  lordship,  4<  but 
that  we  must  make  an  Englishwoman  of  her !'" 

"  I  am  afraid  she  will  never  be  perfect  cure,"  said  Mr.  Carleton 
smiling. 

41 1  conceive  it  might  require  peculiar  qualities  in  the  physician, 
— but  I  do  not  despair.  I  was  telling  her  of  some  of  your  doings 
this  morning,  and  happy  to  see  that  they  met  with  her  entire  dis 
approval." 

Mr.  Carleton  did  not  even  glance  toward  Fleda  and  made  no 
answer,  but  carelessly  gave  the  conversation  another  turn ;  for 
which  she  thanked  him  unspeakably. 

There  was  no  other  interruption  of  any  consequence  to  the  well- 
bred  flow  of  talk  and  kindliness  of  manner  on  the  part  of  all  the 
company,  that  put  Fleda  as  much  as  possible  at  her  ease.  Still  she 
did  not  realize  anything,  and  yet  she  did  realize  it  so  strongly  that 
her  woman's  heart  could  not  rest  till  it  had  eased  itself  in  tears. 
The  superbly  appointed  table  at  which  she  sat, — her  own,  though 
Mrs.  Carleton  this  morning  presided, — the  like  of  which  she  had 
.not  seen  since  she  was  at  Carleton  before  ;  the  beautiful  room  with 
;ts  arrangements,  bringing  back  a  troop  of  recollections  of  that  ole 
time  ;  all  the  magnificence  about  her,  instead  of  elevating  sobered 
her  spirits  to  the  last  degree.  It  pressed  home  upon  her  that  feeling 
of  responsibility,  of  the  change  that  come  over  her  ;  and  though 
beneath  it  all  very  happy,  Fleda  hardly  knew  it,  she  longed  so  to 
be  alone  and  to  cry.  One  person's  eyes,  however  little  seemingly 
observant  of  her,  read  sufficiently  well  the  unusual  shaded  air  of 
her  brow  and  her  smile.  But  a  sudden  errand  of  businsss  called 
him  abroad  immediately  after  breakfast. 

The  ladies  seized  the  opportunity  to  carry  Fleda  up  and  introduce 
her  to  her  dressing-room  and  take  account  of  Lady  Peterborough's 
commission,  and  ladies  and  ladies'  maids  soon  formed  a  busy  com 
mittee  of  dress  and  decorations.  It  did  not  enliven  Fleda,  it 
wearied  her.  though  she  forgave  them  the  annoyance  in  grutJtudt 


QUEECHY.  5Sfl 

for  the  pleasure  they  took  in  looking  at  her.  Even  the  delight  her 
eye  had  from  the  first  minute  she  saw  it,  in  the  beautiful  room,  and 
her  quick  sense  of  the  carefulness  with  which  it  had  been  arranged 
for  her,  added  to  the  feeling  with  which  she  was  oppressed  ;  she 
was  very  passive  in  the  hands  of  her  friends. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  the  housekeeper  was  called  in  and  formally 
presented,  and  received  by  Fleda  with  a  mixture  of  frankness  and 
bashfulness  that  caused  Mrs.  Fothergill  afterward  to  pronounce  her 
"  a  lady  of  a  very  sweet  dignity  indeed." 

"  She  is  just  such  a  lady  as  you  might  know  my  master  would 
iave  fancied,"  said  Mr.  Spenser. 

"  And  what  kind  of  a  lady  is  that  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Fothergill. 

But  Mr.  Spenser  was  too  wise  to  enter  into  any  particulars  and 
merely  informed  Mrs.  Fothergill  that  she  would  know  in  a  few  days. 

11  The  first  words  Mrs.  Carleton  said  when  Mr.  Carleton  got 
home,"  said  the  old  butler, — "  she  put  both  her  hands  on  his  arms 
and  cried  out,  '  Guy,  I  am  delighted  with  her  !  '  ' 

"And  what  did  he  say?  "  said  Mrs.  Fothergill. 

11  He  !  "  echoed  Mr.  Spenser  in  a  tone  of  indignant  intelligence, 
—"what  should  he  say? — He  didn't  say  anything;  only  asked 
•vhere  she  was,  I  believe." 

In  the  midst  of  silks,  muslins  and  jewels  Mr.  Carleton  found 
Fleda  still  on  his  return  ;  looking  pale  and  even  sad,  though  no 
body  but  himself  through  her  gentle  and  grateful  bearing  would 
have  discerned  it.  He  took  her  out  of  the  hands  of  the  committee 
and  carried  her  down  to  the  little  library,  adjoining  the  great  one, 
but  never  thrown  open, — his  room,  as  it  was  called,  where  more 
particularly  art  and  taste  had  accumulated  their  wealth  of  attrac 
tions. 

"I  remember  this  very  well,"  said  Fleda.  "This  beautiful 
room  !  " 

"It  is  as  free  to  you  as  to  me,  Elfie  ;  and  I  neVer  gave  the  free 
dom  of  it  to  any  one  else." 

"  I  will  not  abuse  it,"  said  Fleda. 

"  I  hope  not,  my  dear  Elfie,"  said  he  smiling, — '•  for  the  room 
will  want  something  to  me  now  when  you  are  not  in  it ;  and  a  gift 
is  abused  that  is  not  made  free  use  of." 

A  large  and  deep  bay  window  in  the  room  looked  upon  the  same 
^reen  lawn  and  fir  wood  with  the  windows  of  the  library.  Like 
hose  this  casement  stood  open,  and  Mr.  Carleton  leading  Fleda 
here  remained  quietly  beside  her  for  a  moment,  watching  her  face 
which  his  last  words  had  a  little  moved  from  its  outward  composure. 
Then,  gently  and  gravely  as  if  she  had  been  a  child,  putting  his 
arm  round  her  shoulders  and  drawing  her  to  him  he  whispered, 

"  My  dear  Elfie, — you  need  not  fear  being  misunderstood — " 

Fleda  started  and  looked  up  to  see  what  he  meant.  But  his  face 
said  it  so  plainly,  in  its  perfect  intelligence  and  sympathy  with  her, 
that  her  barrier  of  self-command  and  reserve  was  all  broken  down  ; 
and  hiding  her  head  in  her  hands  upon  his  breast  she  let  the  pent-up 
burden  upon  her  heart  come  forth  in  a  flood  of  unrestrained  tears. 
She  could  not  help  herself.  And  when  she  would  fain  have  checked 
them  after  the  first  burst  and  bidden  them,  according  to  her  habit, 
to  wait  another  time,  it  was  out  of  her  power  ;  for  the  same  kind- 


«Stf  QUEECHT. 

pesa  and  tenderness  that  had  set  them  a  flowing,  perhaps  witting  of 
her  intent,  effectually  hindered  its  execution.  He  did  not  say  a 
single  word,  but  now  and  then  a  soft  touch  of  his  han$  or  of  his  lips 
upon  her  brow,  in  its  expressive  tenderness  would  unnerve  all  her 
resolution  and  oblige  her  to  have  no  reserve  that  time  at  least  in 
letting  her  secret  thoughts  and  feelings  be  known,  as  far  as  tears 
could  tail  them.  She  wept,  at  first  in  spite  of  herself  and  afterward 
in  the  very  luxury  of  indulged  feeling  ;  till  she  was  as  quiet  as  a 
child,  and  the  weight  of  oppression  was  all  gone.  Mr.  Carleton  di«^ 
.iot  move,  nor  speak,  till  she  did. 

"  I  never  knew  before  how  good  you  were,  Mr.  Carleton,  '  saic 
Fleda  raising  her  head  at  length,  as  soon  as  she  dared,  butstil.  helc 
fast  by  that  kind  arm. 

"What  new  light  have  you  got  on  the  subject?"  said  he  smil 
ing. 

"  Why,"  said  Fleda,  trying  as  hard  as  ever  did  sunshine  to  scat 
ter  the  remnants  of  a  cloud, — it  was  a  bright  cloud  too  by  this 
time,  "  I  have  always  heard  that  men  cannot  endure  the  sight  of  a 
Roman's  tears." 

You  shall  give  me  a  reward  then,  Elfie." 
1  What  reward  ?"  said  Elfie. 

1  Promise  me  that  you  will  shed  them  nowhere  else." 
Nowhere  else? — " 
But  here — in  my  arms." 

'  I  don't  feel  like  crying  any  more  now,"  said  Fleda  evasively  ; 
•  at  least," — for  drops  were  falling  rather  fast  again, — "  notsor- 
jowfully." 

"  Promise  me,  Elfie,"  said  Mr.  Carleton  after  a  pause. 

But  Fleda  hesitated  still  and  looked  dubious. 

••  Come! — "  he  said  smiling, — "  you  know  you  promised  a  little 
while  ago  that  you  would  have  a  particular  regard  to  my  wishes." 

Fleda's  cheeks  answered  that  appeal  with  sufficient  brightness, 
but  she  looked  down  and  said  demurely, 

"  I  am  sure  one  of  your  wishes  is  that  I  should  not  say  anything 
rashly." 

-Well?—" 

"  One  cannot  answer  for  such  wilful  things  as  tears." 

"And  for  such  wilful  things  as  men?  "  said  he  smiling. 

But  Fleda  was  silent. 

"  Then  I  will  alter  the  form  of  my  demand.  Promise  me  thatnf 
shadow  of  anything  shall  come  over  your  spirit  that  you  do  not  let 
-me  either  share  or  remove." 

There  was  no  trifling  in  the  tone, — full  of  gentleness  as  it  was  ; 
there  could  be  no  evading  its  requisition.  But  the  promise  demanded 
was  a  grave  one.  Fleda  was  half  afraid  to  make  it.  She  looked 
up,  in  the  very  way  he  had  seen  her  do  when  a  child,  to  find  a 
warrant  for  her  words  before  she  uttered  them.  But  the  full,  cleir, 
steadfast  eye  into  which  she  looked  for  two  seconds,  authorized  as 
well  as  required  the  promise  ;  and  hiding  her  face  again  on  his 
breast  Fleda  gave  it,  amid  a  gush  of  tears  every  one  of  which  was 
illumined  with  heart-sunshine. 

THE 


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